Wolverine's Broad Trouble
by Apteryx
Summary: Logan has woman troubles - but of an unexpected kind. Includes an OC who is in no way a romantic interest for Logan! (Poor Logan - read and see!) COMPLETE (Ignore FFnet chapter count below) Please Read & Review.
1. A Broad in The City

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A/N: This is my first attempt at an X-Men fic, though I have written others. I'm not totally up with the state of play, so this will have to be set slightly AU to excuse any mistakes :-)

As for the story... this was a weird idea that came into my head that I thought I could work with. If you think it's too weird even for words, let me know! Should I keep writing, or lay this particular ghost to rest now... (though can I leave him stranded like this?!)

Cheers,

Apteryx

DISCLAIMER: This piece of writing uses characters copyrighted by Marvel, without permission. This material is used for the purposes of non-profit entertainment, and is not intended to interfere with Marvel's right to use said characters for their own commercial goals.

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Chapter 1: A Broad in the City.

The bartender warily eyed the figure seated hunched at the bar, his large hat pulled low over his face obscuring his features - an hour ago, he had staggered in, gruffly ordered a large whisky and knocked it back, and when he had gone to put the bottle back on the shelf, the guy had demanded the bottle be left on the bar. He was about to protest when a hand had flicked a hundred dollar bill across the stained wood. Without comment, the bartender pocketed the bill and moved down to the other end of the bar - this guy seriously needed to be left alone.

However, after surreptitiously keeping an eye on him, watching the level in the bottle get steadily lower and lower, he decided he'd better do his duty and kick the guy out while he could still walk, perhaps. He approached and cleared his throat.

The figure slowly lifted his head to look steadily at him. That's when he got his first shock of the evening; the figure was a female.

She gave a small shrug. "Yeah?" she drawled.

He guessed she was from one of the mid-western states from her clothes, probably a ranch hand or some other outdoor occupation - she looked tough, as though she had seen a lot and been around a lot, and he could also see that at the moment she was extremely riled about something. He hoped it wasn't him.

It was then he'd got his second shock.

In the trade he was in, he'd seen a lot of drunks before; he could generally tell just how drunk someone was by looking at them. Now he would have expected, with the amount of liquor this guy had consumed in a short space of time, and especially now that the guy turned out to be a gal, that she would be _very_ drunk. 

But the shock was; she was absolutely stone-cold sober.

He cleared his throat again so he could speak.

"Uh, want another bottle?"

The woman gave an amused slight up-turn of the lip, as if she knew he had been about to say something else. 

"Nah. I should be gone now." She swivelled slightly on the stool and her eyes darted over the rest of the small bar's clientele, who largely ignored her; she was no looker. A few months ago, she would have been squinting through a haze of smoke, now all she had to contend with was dim lighting. She grunted and slipped off her stool, wobbled for a moment, then made her way to the bar's entrance, her hand reaching inside her leather jacket as she walked. 

The bartender watched her unsteady gait, and wondered if in fact he had misjudged and she was drunker than she appeared. But when she paused before the door and with a glance back at the bartender, jammed a cigar in her mouth, and lit it with a lighter produced from another pocket with practised ease, he started questioning his own judgement. Sending a cloud of pungent smoke into the bar, she smiled around the cigar gripped in her teeth, and quietly sauntered out the door.

The bartender stared at the door, then at the empty bottle of whisky.

Seemed like yet another interesting night in the making for New York City.

................................................

Logan stepped outside the bar into the dark night and cursed silently to himself. That was stupid thing to do, to decide to stop and have a drink when he was supposed to be on the trail of a certain mutant, though he thought wryly, he did have a genuine excuse. A stiff drink to help get over the shock he'd had. Or, perhaps more accurately he supposed - taking a long drag on his cigar before exhaling and glancing down - _she'd_ had. 

Logan growled under her breath and headed off in the direction she had last seen the mutant going, hoping to pick up his trail quickly. The less time he - _she_ - had to spend in this form, the better.

...................................

Xavier had been distinctly worried about this particular mutant. With the rest of the X teams away on various missions, and he himself busy with other matters, he had asked this favour of Logan.

"...I can tell you were he is at the moment, but he may not be there when you arrive; he is running scared. Logan, you will have to be very careful and, uh, diplomatic approaching this young man. His mutation hasn't stabilised yet, which is one reason he's so frightened. The other is the nature of his mutation - he has the ability to alter the genetic make-up of a person, their DNA." Xavier paused and then continued, "Could you imagine what the Brotherhood would be able to do if they got hold of him? I fear the that they may already be aware of his presence. Oh, and you may have a little difficulty remembering his name..." He smiled. "...it's Charles."

So Logan, the big lunkhead that he was, had said 'Yeah, sure Chuck', and had ignored Xavier's warnings. 

Finding the boy had been relatively easy; he hadn't moved far, and Logan could smell the fear that the kid had exuded, as strong to his senses as perfume would be to a normal person. Charles had been leaning in a corner in a store-front's alcove, the hood of his grey sweatshirt pulled over his head, keeping in the shadows and trying not to be noticed by any of the occasional passers-by at that time of the evening. Logan had approached him quietly, trying not to make him nervous.

"Hey, Bub..." he'd begun in what he thought was a reassuring tone. What the boy probably heard though, was a low growl coming from a squat menacing figure, silhouetted against the street lights. He had yelped and lifted up his head - Logan could see the panic glinting in his eyes - before throwing up his arm in a pitiful attempt to ward off any attack. 

Logan had reached out to place his hand on the boy's arm, meaning to placate him, saying "It's OK kid, I ain't goin' ta..." when the boy grabbed at the hand on his arm.

There was an initial sudden flash of heat, then a sensation akin to hot and cold flushes, travelling up Logan's arm and spreading throughout his body. He hadn't been too worried by it to begin with - his healing ability could deal with most things, including flu viruses - but when he started feeling a pain that didn't diminish, and things moving around under his skin, he dropped the boy's arm and stared at his own in surprise. 

A kick in the guts; that's what it felt like anyway. He doubled over as the pain became more intense. He was used to pain; he had thought he was an expert in pain; he and pain were old buddies. He had experienced virtually all the types of pain that could be inflicted on a human body, even those pains that people generally never recovered from, but this pain was different... he could swear his organs were travelling about his insides, his muscles and skin were tightening, loosening. 

Vaguely he was aware of the young man dodging around his hunched over form and running off into the night, but he was too tightly curled around himself to care. Then the pain hit his bones, and the pain, and the memory of pain, became too much, and he blacked out.

It can't have been too much later that he recovered from his faint. His first thought, no, not even a thought, but his body's signal to his brain, was that he no longer hurt. Good, his mutant healing factor had worked. Logan stretched and stood up. Or at least tried to. He stumbled and fell over, having lost his balance.

"What th' f..?"

He tried again. It was as if his centre of gravity had changed or something. He stumbled about the dark alcove, trying to stay upright and walk normally. His sense of equilibrium reasserted itself quickly enough, but as he took another step, he realised that his pants were loose about his waist; something was different... something was... missing... 

Logan stood shock still, as the blood ran from his face, leaving him pale, and feeling like he was about to faint again. 

He had been changed. 

That damned kid had touched him and changed him, changed his DNA. 

"I'm a flamin' woman!" he exclaimed.

"Of course you are, sweetie, and a lovely little woman too," came a voice from behind him. 

Logan whirled, reaching out to lean against the wall as he nearly lost his balance again, to see a man leering at him. He hadn't heard or smelt the man approach, he'd been so preoccupied with his own state. The man, a tall, hulking brute, came closer; it was very evident what his intent towards the small woman was. Logan was used to being towered over by other men, hell, most other women too, but being leered at like that? He growled softly under his breath, "I friggin' well don' need this..."

"What was that sweetie? Don't want to talk to me? Well, I want to talk to you..."

Logan crossed his arms as the man came to within less than a foot away, then quickly uncrossed his arms again in horror as they met with a couple of extra appendages. The would-be rapist mistook Logan's look for one of fear of him, and smiled. 

"Why don't we relax? I won't hurt you sweetie, not if you co-operate..." He brought his hand up in front of Logan's face and with a small _schik_ sound, revealed a switchblade.

"Get ya paw outta m'face if ya wan' ta keep it, bub," Logan said quietly, not at all intimidated by this threat.

Unfortunately for his assailant, he was not intimidated by Logan's threat either.

"Heh, heh, if that's the way you want it sweetie..." He drew the point of the blade down Logan's cheek, drawing blood. He was so caught up in his own little scenario, he hadn't noticed that his victim was surprisingly calm for someone being cut up. He also didn't notice the cut heal up within scant seconds. 

Logan brought his own hand up, but not in defence.

"For that," he growled, narrowing his eyes, "you get cut too."

The man leaned in closer and laughed at the empty threat and empty hand. "Yeah?"

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Snikt. 

The man recoiled in terror at the nine-inch blades that had suddenly appeared out of the back of the woman's hand, narrowly missing his face. 

"Yeah." Logan lashed out, meaning to slice the man's face in return, but unintentionally over-reached, and severed his nose as well. 

"Aaaaargh!" The man dropped his knife and covered his face with his hands, stared at Logan in fear himself, as he started to stagger away, the blood dripping through his fingers.

"Oops." Logan shrugged and retracted his claws. "Ya lucky I ain't quite up t'scratch at the moment, else ya'd be missin' more'n ya nose..." 

He dismissed the fleeing figure from his thoughts. He'd have to be careful for a while, until he learned to compensate for his new body. He reached up and rubbed his smooth chin. He'd been in heaps of unusual situations before, some supernatural, some just outright bizarre, but he couldn't off the top of his head remember one like this.

A broad. 

Dammit, he needed a drink.

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TBC


	2. Lucky

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A/N: My word! Thanks for the reviews - very heartening :) And in answer to your comments, Wolverine is one of my favs too, and will be well treated. I could draw a picture, but alas, have no-where to post these things, so we'll all just have to imagine the sight. Frankly, I'm more worried what will happen once 'she' starts meeting people! :D

(BTW, I refer to Logan as 'she' from now on… it's a whole lot less confusing, and reminds me that he's not his normal self…)

Cheers,

Apteryx 

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Chapter 2: Lucky

There. 

Logan sniffed the air again. She was getting nearer; she could smell Charles' scent close by. She looked down the small access way, one side of it lined by small trees, a not uncommon feature in this part of Chelsea. 

There. Under one of the shrubs was the boy, curled up and no doubt hoping to get some sleep. Well, perhaps she shouldn't be so quiet approaching him this time, thought Logan. She walked openly down the centre of the access way, stopping a few feet away from the bush. 

"Charles," she called softly, wincing slightly at the sound of her voice. Nothing threatening in that. There was no reply from the boy, but she wasn't expecting one. She could hear his breathing become more rapid. 

"Charles," she called again, "I know ya can hear me kid. I'm here ta help. I've come to offer you a place where we can help ya with your mutation."

Silence still.

"Kid?"

"Go away." A voice whispered. "How do I know you're not going to hurt me? Go away."

"I ain't goin' ta hurt ya. I understand: I'm like you – a mutant."

Two eyes peered out from between the leaves of the bush, eyeing Logan where she stood.

"You're not like me."

"Yeah, well, my mutation's not the same as yours, but I _am_ a mutant."

"Prove it." The statement was flat, distrustful. Logan sighed, but didn't blame him; it was hard to trust anyone when your whole world had been turned upside down and it seemed everyone was out to get you.

"Got a knife on ya kid?"

There was a rustling as the young man stood up and warily stepped out of the bush. He flipped the small backpack he was wearing off his shoulder and opened one of the side pockets, pulled out a pocket knife. 

Logan took off her jacket and pushed up the sleeve of her shirt, baring her forearm. She held it out towards the boy. 

"Cut me," she said.

He started. "I… no, I don't want to do that…"

"Cut me. C'mon, it's OK, I don' bite."

Charles slowly opened his knife and went up to Logan, still wary, afraid it was some kind of trick. His grip on his knife was tight, ready to defend himself. He reluctantly placed the blade on the surface of Logan's skin, then with a quick glance at her face, dug the knife in and down.

A muscle in Logan's face twitched, but other than that, she didn't react.

"Watch the cut," she ordered, and smiled to herself as she observed the change in Charles's expression. She rolled her sleeve back down, and picked up her jacket from the ground.

"So?"

"You- you can help?" A slight glimmer of hope.

"Me? I wouldn' know one end o' the X-gene from t'other. There're others like me who do though," stated Logan. "You goin' ta come?"

"Uh…"

"When was the las' time you ate?" 

His eyes glanced sideways, not meeting Logan's. "Uh, yesterday?" he guessed.

"C'mon, let's get some food in ya." She turned and walked off. 

Charles stood there for a few seconds, then hurriedly closed his pocket knife, and chased after Logan.

………………………………..

Logan slowed the jeep down as he neared the School for Gifted Youngsters. Charles was asleep in the seat next to him, worn out with exhaustion and the stresses of running, and comfortable with a full stomach. 

She stopped for the gates to open automatically as the security system recognised one of the authorised vehicles. She was glad she didn't need to speak into an intercom – at the moment, she'd prefer it if she could just get the kid inside without being seen herself, and then with Xavier's help get the kid to reverse the transformation he'd done earlier. 

Logan carefully lifted the sleeping boy out of the car seat and carried him through inside the Mansion. She was taken aback at how heavy he was, until she remembered that her muscle mass and upper body strength was considerably less now – still strong for a female, but not what she was used to. She kept her hat low over her face, and trusted that her familiar clothes and the lateness of the hour would keep her change of sex undiscovered, at least until she was ready to let people know. 

Chuck! she called out with her mind.

In my office, Logan was the reply.

As she headed that way, she passed only one insomniac student in the darkness, who was more interested in seeing a possible new student than she was a person she'd seen many times before. Logan gained Xavier's office and wordlessly placed the boy in an armchair. He stirred a bit, but kept sleeping.

"He must be feeling safe now, to sleep like that," commented Xavier mildly. "Have any trouble?"

"Ya could say that…" 

Xavier turned abruptly at the sound of Logan's voice.

"Logan? What happened?"

"Let's say… I wasn't quite diplomatic enough, and leave it at that, eh?" she scowled. 

Xavier held her gaze for a few moments, then said, "Fine. Now, the boy will need a proper bed for the rest of the night, and…"

"Wait a minute here, Chuck. What about me?"

"What about you?"

"If ya think I'm goin' ta stay like this fer any length o' time, you need ya head read. I want him ta change me back."

"Logan, I told you, he doesn't have control of his abilities…"

She slumped down onto a chair, glowering. "Ya mean…?"

"Until he learns how to control his mutation, there is no guarantee that he'd be able to change you back. If he tried now, he could change your DNA in even more unforeseen ways – what if you ended up with a condition such as Parkinson's? Or… worse? You were lucky as it was."

"If this is luck, I'd hate ta be unlucky." She pulled herself out of the chair, resigned. "Well, I hope he's a fast learner that's all. Where shall I put 'im?"

"For tonight, the room next to yours. It's vacant for the rest of the week. I want you to be on hand in the morning – you're the only person he's at all familiar with at the moment."

Grunting, Logan picked the sleeping boy up, but paused by the door.

"I don't s'pose you could make th' others see me as m' normal self still.." she asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Xavier only smiled.

Grumbling, Logan pulled her second boot off and threw it across the room. She was lucky her clothes still fit somewhat, although her shirts and jacket were a lot roomier about the shoulders and arms, and her jeans tighter on the hips and looser around the waist. Taking off her jacket and shirt, she stood in front of the mirror in jeans and t-shirt, critically inspecting her new body. 

It was a shock still, seeing the eyes looking out of a face that had the same features as before, but appreciatively feminised, still not changed enough to win any beauty contests though. Her hair hadn't changed, that was something, but there was less body hair on her arms – she guessed the same would apply elsewhere as well – and her face was completely smooth. 

She grimaced, watching her mirror double perform the same movement. That was flamin' freaky. She could feel it was her, but she couldn't accept what she was seeing, not at a level where her sense of self was. She still felt she should be _he_. Logan twisted a bit and looked over her shoulder; at least she had a well-formed, if compact body. 

Turning back, she was pleased to note that her bust was pretty compact as well. Perhaps she could get away without… additional support. She frowned at the notion; the last thing she wanted to do was ponce around trying on women's underwear. 

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Snikt. She held up her claws. Wolverine was still Wolverine, shit-hot warrior, and a force to be reckoned with, regardless of gender. And nobody had better mistake that.

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	3. Grumpy

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A/N: All righty! Now we get a few reactions... heehee :)

Thanks for the reviews, again! Here is more Logan for you all. Some of your comments for situations to have 'her' in are tempting... at the very least though, dreams are free ;D

(off topic: Kerewin - thumbs up for Linux/Debian!)

Now, on with the show!

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Chapter 3: Grumpy

"Aargh! Flamin' Hell!" Logan woke, out of a nightmare where he re-lived the experience of Magneto pulling all the adamantium from his bones, that segued into one where Mystique somehow was able to shape-change other people as well, and had changed him into a woman. He woke, to find that one part of his dream was still a nightmare. 

He was still a she.

Getting to sleep had not been easy; bits of body kept getting in the way, and she had felt pressure points where her hips and shoulders met the mattress. How did women ever get to sleep if it was this uncomfortable? When she finally slept, that was when the nightmares had begun.

What sleep she had had though, had done wonders for her subconscious; it had been at work so that she didn't have to consciously adjust to her body's gravity and mass. She was even able to handle the morning's ablutions with only minimal swearing, glad however that she was alone and unobserved as she came to grips with certain aspects of its functioning. Still, she was not in the best of moods when she left her room to check on the kid next door. That was normal.

She didn't knock, but went in to find the kid standing by the window, gazing out at the view. His hood was down, revealing untidy sandy-coloured hair. He turned as Logan neared.

"Where am I?" he asked, naturally enough.

"Westchester. At a school for mutants."

"A school?" 

"Where you can learn to control ya powers. The Professor'll tell you more after breakfast." 

"What's your name?" the boy asked shyly; he hadn't learnt that last night - Logan hadn't told.

"Logan. What's yours?"

"Charles Mavissen. What's your first name?"

"Logan," she replied tersely, more than usually irked by the question. 

Charles lowered his head, not understanding how he had angered her. Logan sighed; surely others were more suited to being nurse-maids than her. She'd get Xavier to give the boy a student buddy.

"C'mon," she said, and the boy followed her out of the room. 

As they walked down the corridor, Logan could sense that Charles was becoming apprehensive, from the sound of his breathing, obviously hearing the sound of voices coming from the dining room. She had timed it late so that the School's students would already be in class - more for her sake than the boy's. His grey eyes searched Logan's for assurance.

"We're all mutants here," Logan paused outside the door, "and we get new students all the time. No one will be surprised ta see ya. You'll be fine kid." 

Logan pushed open the door and walked by the tables past where Paige, Robert and Sam sat, and around to where the breakfast food was laid out on a sideboard. At first, it was as she said; they were ignored apart from one or two curious glances their way. But gradually, a silence fell. Logan slowly registered the unusual lull in conversation and looked up from pouring herself a coffee; all eyes were on them. No, they were on _her_... Charles stood by her, trembling, not knowing why everyone was, as he supposed, looking at him. 

Someone cleared their throat. 

"Wolverine?" Hank said in astonishment from where he sat alone, his newspaper forgotten.

She had momentarily forgotten her changed form. 

"Yeah?" She managed to make the word a reply, a challenge and a threat, all rolled up in one. If _one_ person made a comment about her state, they'd be eating through their backside for a long time to come.

"Oh my Sta... um, could you see your way to bringing me a cup of coffee too? I'd be grateful."

"Sure." As Logan reached for another cup, the noise level in the dining room increased, to slightly above normal conversational levels. The few X-men in the room remained to finish their breakfast.

Charles glanced sidelong at Logan, again not understanding what was going on. "Wolverine?" he questioned.

"It's a sorta nickname," she explained, gathering up the coffees and moving off. The boy followed, carrying his own breakfast.

"Oh," he said, thinking, "I see. It's because you're so grumpy, isn't it?"

Logan just growled. 

Charles smiled in amusement, but his expression soon changed to one of mild trepidation when Logan lead him to sit opposite Hank. 

"Here's your coffee, Bub." She set it down roughly in front of the scientist, knowing he for one knew what it was like to suddenly change form. 

"Much obliged." He avoided staring at Logan and instead looked curiously at Charles. 

Logan turned to Charles, to introduce him to Hank, but found the boy cowering in his chair in terror, not as she might have expected at the sight of the blue leonine mutant opposite, but at her.

"What's the matter kid?"

His rounded eyes looked back at her. "Y-you said 'Bub'," he stammered.

"So? I say it all the time, just ask Hank here."

"It's true, he does use that particular idiom frequently."

"And you said 'he'!" Charles pointed accusingly at Hank, becoming slightly hysterical.

Logan and Hank exchanged glances, then Logan desperately searched about the room looking for someone who could help - she was no good at this sort of stuff. Everyone else avoided meeting her eye, whether from embarrassment, amusement or fear, she couldn't tell, but it was enough to make her curse voraciously under her breath. 

"What is it?" she asked the boy, wanting him to calm down, but not wanting to touch him in case he... Oh. That's what it was all about. She shook her head and sighed.

"It's alright kid - you didn' hurt me, honest. Well, maybe a little, but I got over it."

"B-but you must hate me..."

"Nah, I don' hate you. I ain't too thrilled about this, but I'm sure you'll be able to work on it, eh?"

Hank sat watching the exchange, spooning sugar into his coffee as he surmised the boy's part in Logan's unusual appearance.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - I don't know - I'll do all I can," Charles finished under Logan's steady gaze.

"Humph. Finish yer breakfast. I'm goin' ta get more coffee, this one's cold."

When she came back, Hank and Charles were talking; the boy having got over his initial startlement at Big Blue's appearance, though he occasionally looked askance at him, perhaps not quite believing he was having breakfast with such a strange personage. Logan grinned; wait until he saw some of the other residents at the Mansion. 

She plonked herself down and listened to the conversation while drinking her coffee; at least the coffee was better in this place since someone had talked the Professor into installing one of those fancy machines. 

"...fascinating. Does it happen every time you touch someone?"

"No, I think it's only when I'm stressed or something."

"That would make sense. The increase in the adrenaline produced at such times would be enough to trigger the X-gene's 'flight or fight' response, resulting in..."

Logan, if young Charles has finished his breakfast, could you bring him to the library, thank you. Xavier's telepathic communication interrupted. 

"Ruddy intercom system," Logan grumbled. Louder she told Charles the instruction she'd received. She could see him becoming nervous again at the thought of meeting the head of a place like this.

"I believe I will accompany you as well," Hank offered, removing his glasses and giving them a polish with the edge of the table cloth, "I'm sure the Professor won't mind - given your particular talents, my young friend, he's certain to apply to my expertise." He gave a half bow to Charles.

Charles laughed.

The threesome travelled down the dim corridor together, the sun hardly warming the wooden panels of the walls. Hank was chatting away to Charles, telling him what was behind each of the doors they passed. Logan preferred to stay silent.

"Oh M'Dieu, who did dat t'you Logan? Finally run into sometin' you couldn't fight, eh chere?" came a joking voice from the shadows as they passed.

In an instant, Logan had moved so fast, that all Gambit could do was register surprise as the shoulders of his coat were pinned to the wall by six adamantium claws and an angry face was pushed up against his. 

"Ya got a problem with that, Darlin'?" she snarled. She had known he was there, of course, but had waited to see if there was any reaction from him first.

"Non, not at all, mon ami. Gambit tink you still fighting fit..." He tried to shrug. "You could put me down now, tanks."

"He's correct Logan, don't muss his clothing more than necessary," Hank behind them deadpanned.

A small rumble came from Logan's throat as he retracted his claws. "This had better be the las' I hear of it..."

She turned back to Hank and Charles. Charles was standing there wide-eyed at what he had witnessed.

"Get used to it, kid. This ain't the place t'be if ya want normal."

Charles nodded and turned again to Hank as they continued down the hall, obviously more comfortable with him despite his looks. Logan grinned to herself as she thought how quickly her body had moved to intercept Gambit - who hadn't been expecting that - there were some advantages to this form after all.

"No problem..." Logan heard the mumbled remark from the amused Cajun, "...you're jus' beautiful when you're angry..." but decided to ignore it. For now.

Only one other incident happened before they reached the library. There was a sudden smell of sulphur and a brief cloud of purple smoke in front of them as Kurt Wagner materialised, taking one astonished look at the group before disappearing again, leaving behind more of the smoke. Charles was remarkably unfazed by this brief visit.

Logan growled to herself - she could guess what that was all about - and she also knew that virtually everyone in the Mansion would know of her altered state within minutes. 

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	4. Be Easy on Yourself

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A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, e hoa, I'm continuing with more for you all. (I'm not certain yet, but Logan may have amenorrhea - being an athlete, and the stress an' all... hee :) )

I thought I'd pop in a little bit here about how I write. I do a plot outline to begin with and work from that - so in theory I know exactly where I'm going with the story, and what happens, and how it ends (though occasionally, a character may decide to do something else...). That's not to say suggestions aren't welcome! May even get me thinking on a different tack :) And I **always** finish a story I've begun.

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 4: Be Easy on Yourself

"Well Charles, it appears that one of my priorities must be getting you trained in the use of your new abilities - it may be too dangerous for all of us otherwise." Xavier sat behind his desk in the library and pondered. "I think... since you have already been introduced to Dr. McCoy here, that he may best be suited to the role. What do you think Henry?"

Hank beamed at the Professor and then back at Charles. "I'd be delighted. I'm sure we'll discover all manner of intriguing phenomenon together."

"Do you want to contact anybody Charles? Your parents? We will need permission from them for you to stay here, since you're only fifteen, and a minor..."

Charles's smile faded. "My mom and dad... they won't mind if I come here, but... I ran away from home - I touched a kid at school who was hassling me and he- he changed. The teachers thought _he_ was the mutant to begin with, but tests showed he wasn't... I was scared, really scared, so I ran..."

"Where do you live?"

"Aurora, Minnesota."

"Hmm, that's not too far away. I'll come with you to meet your parents. Logan will go with us too, if you want."

The boy's head turned to gaze at Logan. She kept her face neutral while waiting for his reply.

"I don't mind," he said seriously, his blue-grey eyes hesitant, "as long as she... controls her temper."

Logan smirked, "Don' let my little PDA back there worry ya - I'll be sweeter than a bee's bum."

Hank snorted beside her, and even the Professor wore a little smile.

"That's fixed then. I suggest we leave after lunch - that will give us plenty of time to be back before dinner," he said.

The boy's jaw dropped. "But... it'll take hours to get back home! This is Minnesota we're talking about, not the corner store!"

Logan found herself edging away from him as he got excited.

"We have an exclusive mode of transportation available to us, you'll be able to observe it at close quarters later. Right now, I suggest that we get further acquainted in my laboratory... I have a nice philodendron that we can experiment on..." Hank stood up, and with a nod to Xavier and Logan, left the library with Charles trailing behind.

Logan stayed slouched, with her arms folded and legs crossed out in front of her.

"Ya think the kid's goin' ta be OK?"

"He'll adapt fine; he has a mind that's both curious and accepting, and you know, youth is pretty resilient about change. Speaking of which..."

"I'm jake," she lied.

Xavier sighed. "Logan..."

"Well, what do ya expect? That I'd be ecstatic about comin' in touch with m'feminine side? No I ain't. I really need ta get away from here for a bit, but jus' for you, I'll wait until we're back from this afternoon's jaunt b'fore shootin' through." Logan let her anger subside marginally. Although she didn't like to admit it, the Professor knew her better than most. Sharing the same head-space for a time will do that.

He was expressionless as he watched her rise and start pacing. After a while, he commented mildly, "The danger room is free now, if you want it, Wolverine."

The use of her code-name was not lost on her. He was right - she needed to work off some of her anger and frustration, and that was the safest environment at the present moment.

"You'll have to re-set your voice print in the control room before you start." 

"Thanks."

"Be easy on yourself Logan," he said as she left.

And she knew he wasn't meaning just in the danger room either.

The sun was high in the sky and shadows were few. As it was a sunny day in fall, the sun was also having a job to create much warmth through the cold wind. Someone seeking a smidgen of that warmth was Logan, smoking a cigar, sitting on a flat outcrop of rock at the edge of the lake some distance away from the Mansion. The slight breeze ruffled her hair as she smoked and contemplated. 

The session in the danger room had started out bad, particularly when she found that her uniform didn't fit; she'd had to make certain impromptu changes to it using her claws. Then, setting the session to her usual level, she'd discovered that to begin with, she couldn't work her way through it - her timing was off, her strength gone and gravity shifted. 

Teeth bared, she ran at the robot and leaped, claws outstretched, ready to pierce its metal housing, but ended up missing altogether and being side-swiped by a massive arm. She rolled and picked herself up quickly, and threw herself at the damn thing again, still not succeeding. Becoming majorly pissed off at this point, she kept hammering away at the mechanised construct, trying to use brute force to bring it down and instead getting slashed several times by the machete-like blade it wielded. 

Finally, after being thrown clear across the room with a spear through her middle, she realised this was not working and adjusted her fighting style accordingly. She knew enough from her experiences of being trained in Japan to turn her disadvantages into assets, and use that increased speed and mobility she discovered earlier. 

Concentrating now, she quickly disabled the robot, and dispatched more, even surprising herself by managing to perform a flip that had been rather awkward to perform as a muscle-bound heavy male, to say the least. It was still no picnic with the added weight of her adamantium-laced skeleton. 

As she stood there, panting at the end of the session, she happened to glance up at the window of the control room, catching a glimpse of someone watching - the figure disappeared as soon as she saw it - someone taking a gawk at the new Wolverine? 

She sniffed the air when she entered the control room a minute later, and smiled slowly. She hoped he'd had an eyeful...

Taking another puff of her cigar and squinting in the sun, Logan thought that it was about time to head back to the Mansion. She hadn't seen anyone since her danger room session, but lunch time was approaching, and with it, mass exposure... What the heck, she wasn't one to care about what other people thought about her, and this wasn't the time to start either. 

With one last look across the sparkling water and the pine trees lining the far shore, Logan flicked her cigar butt out into the wavelets lapping near her feet, and began to rise. 

__

Bamf! 

"Jeezus, don'cha ever _knock_ first?" Logan exclaimed as she shook the water from her boot, after stumbling into the lake in surprise.

"Es tut mir leid. I didn't mean to startle you my friend. I-I felt you perhaps needed someone... I don't know, perhaps you don't, but if you do, I'm here."

Logan picked up a pebble and threw it abruptly far out into the water. "Well, at least I don' throw like a girl," she commented, then faced the Nightcrawler. "Come to assuage ya curiosity, like back at the Mansion? How many people know now?"

"None from me. And you have it wrong; you startled _me_ vhen I came upon you accidentally. That really _vas_ most unexpected." 

"Ah, sod it. I should know better than ta think it's all about me. Let's head back - ya goin' ta walk or take the easy way?"

Kurt smiled, showing his fangs. "You seem no more disturbed than is normal for you. You have done this female thing before, nein?" 

"Clam it, Elf, b'fore you discover jus' _how_ disturbed I am!"

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	5. Short, Squat & Close to Nature

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A/N: Hiya! Another episode in the long-running saga of... A She in Wolvie's Clothing. Ha! Just kidding :) Awful puns aside, this isn't the most action packed Wolverine story out there, but it's not planned that way (although there will be a **lovely** scene near the end involving **lots** of glass... just to give you another hint and drive you all mad :D). I tend to write with a mystery slant, and this is setting up for it.

I thank you for the reviews - nice to know there's an audience!

Enjoy!

Cheers, Apteryx

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Chapter 5: Small, Squat and Close to Nature

The two friends reached the Mansion just as the lunch period began. Students were rushing about everywhere, some up to their rooms, some outside, but most towards the dining room. Logan and Kurt made their way through them, Logan ignoring any stares. That was something she was good at... 

One young student, a girl with the most frizzy red hair imaginable, came up to them and asked Logan if she was looking for Wolverine, figuring she must be his sister or other close female relative.

Logan smiled, "No pun'kin', I know where Wolverine is," which earned her a short laugh from Kurt, and an unconcerned shrug from the girl as she flitted off.

In fact, the kids were more accepting of the change than Logan had thought they would be, mostly she presumed, because they had gone through dramatic changes of their own so recently. It was the X-Men who had more trouble dealing with it. 

Most of them knew by now through Remy, who was still very amused by the fact and had passed the information along. It was a good thing he did; this gave them time to come to grips with the idea before Logan strolled into the dining room and the idea became reality.

Logan didn't notice any difference in conversation level this time, as he grabbed a plate of sandwiches and went over to where Hank and Charles were sitting. Kurt took his time carefully piling his plate with food before following.

"How ya doin' kid?" she asked Charles as she sat down, "Hope Blue here ain't been beatin' you about the head wi' too many long words."

The 'kid' gave a small grin. "Uh unh," he said with his mouth full, "just a large stick..."

"I might have _threatened_ him imperceptibly, as a catalyst..." Hank admitted. He chewed thoughtfully on a chicken leg. "Remarkable mutation he has - my philodendron is now something else entirely, I'm guessing a variety of Pleopsidium, though with the specimen completely out of its environmental context, it's uncertain..." He mumbled to himself.

"What the heck is a pli-op-whatever?"

"Something similar to you - small, squat and close to nature. A lichen." Charles had finished his meal, and having been in Hank's company all morning, had found a boost of fortitude.

"I bet you were the most popular kid in class, eh?" grumbled Logan sarcastically.

"No, but I wasn't the class reject either."

Out of the corner of her eye, Logan caught Kurt grinning broadly at the exchange.

"What!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who called you a lichen!" He held his hands up in playful surrender, "Though I must admit, I think a venus fly trap vould be more your style." 

Logan was happy at the good-natured bantering between them; it meant that her appearance wasn't getting in the way of her old friendships. Bobby was the only other person to make a smart-arsed comment, and it was only his ability to ice up that saved him from becoming shish kaBobby at the end of Wolverine's claws. 

Scott very purposely didn't say a word; his very careful neutral expression was just about as offensive to Logan as if he'd laughed out loud or was sniggering or something - what the hell _was_ he thinking? The only advantage she had there, was that she could get closer to Jean without him becoming jealous... Logan bared her teeth at Scott in a very disturbing smile.

....................................................

Hank had warned Charles that the Institute wasn't only a school, preparatory to their entrance into the lower levels of the Mansion. The gleaming metal tunnels were a complete contrast to the old wood-lined upper levels. Logan watched Charles with some amusement as they travelled along the moving walkway to the Blackbird's hangar. This was making him goggle eyed far more than the sight of the more unusual looking mutants he'd seen. When they finally arrived at the jet, his eyes practically fell out of his head.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, "This is something else!"

He wanted to sit right up the front and watch Beast, who had offered to fly them, run through the preliminary start-up procedures, but Xavier nixed that and got him to belt up next to him. Logan instead took the co-pilot's seat. As they rose in the air and turned to head west, Logan heard the two Charles conversing in low tones. The younger Charles' voice kept rising with excitement as he peered round the seats to stare out the windshield of the jet, and then the older Charles would gain his attention for a while, and his voice would lower.

"Give him a break, Chuck," Logan called out, "At least wait till we're over Iowa, and he's as bored as sin b'fore givin' him the third degree."

Xavier sighed, and Logan grinned, amused. She pulled a cigar out of her jacket pocket and stuck it the side of her mouth. Charles was unashamedly staring at the view from the cockpit, but she didn't think he'd find it interesting for much longer - at the altitudes they were flying, he wouldn't see much more than plain sky for quite some time.

"Logan, you're not going to light that thing up in here," stated Xavier irritably.

"O' course not..." She leaned back in her seat as far as she was able within the restraint of the harness, put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes. She tuned out the voices around her and drifted off.

"Logan..." A hand tentatively shook his arm. 

She was instantly awake, cigar still hanging out the corner of her mouth as if glued there. Charles withdrew his hand pretty quick at Logan's sudden movement. 

"We're nearly there," he said.

Glancing out the windshield, Logan caught a glimpse of trees and small lakes dotted about in the hilly landscape. 

"ETA five minutes, altitude 75,000 feet and falling, descent angle of 0.25 degrees, speed slowed to Mach 3.2, hydraulic pressure OK, turbos set," Hank said from the seat beside him, and grinned broadly, "I like that - makes me sound as if I've been to pilot school, or similar institution. What do you think, Charles?"

"Cool, can I learn to pilot this thing too?" 

"Ya forgot the tray tables in an upright position..."

The Professor was sitting very still in his seat, eyes shut, but not asleep, Logan knew. His own particular brand of zoning out. Close to meditation, but deeper and at the same time, more aware.

"...anywhere we can land close to your house but in a secluded vicinity?"

Charles replied laughingly to Hank's question. "We have a park reserve right behind our back yard. It runs the length of the whole street and follows a creek. Rapid Park."

"One rapid park coming right up!"

Hank banked the jet and circled down over a small city, then lowered down into a small clearing by the creek.

As soon as they had landed, Xavier opened his eyes and spoke as if he'd been aware of things all along. Which he probably had. 

"Both your parents are at home," he told Charles, "Logan and I will come with you."

"What about Hank?" asked Charles, not wanting to leave his new friend.

"I'll remain on the Blackbird as Chief Security Officer. I'm sure to scare off any possible intruders unused to large blue furry mutants..."

"Oh," said the boy, then "Oh!" again, as he remembered what Hank looked like.

Hank chuckled. "You do my ego good."

"C'mon." Logan was already half way down the ramp, impatient and wanting to stretch her legs. She didn't particularly enjoy flying in the enclosed jet for long. Besides, she had a cigar to smoke...

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_A/N: I must say here, that I **have** been trying to update more frequently than it appears; but I've been frustrated by the 'site experiencing overload' message, that **doesn't** let me come back in a few minutes, grrrr >:( Oh well, I do get them up eventually... Apteryx._


	6. Wildlife

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A/N: Thanks to my reviewers!

storms_rose: Thanks for your encouraging comments. It's not **me** who thinks girls can't throw! ;)

Xiowolfe: I promise more will happen, but I like to spend time exploring characters and situations, they can get carried away sometimes!

Kerewin: Lol, I do know what you mean - but I'm going to play Logan 'straight' in this fic. Plenty of innuendo to keep your imagination busy though :)

I'm just having a little giggle to myself over some of the future chapters, but you'll all have to wait to read those…. Aren't I mean! Heehee :)

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 6: Wildlife

Charles knocked at the back door. Logan could sense that he was nervous again, but whether from seeing his parents again, or on behalf of his new acquaintances, she couldn't tell.

The door opened, and a tall, blond man casually dressed in jeans and sweats, stood there, surprise registered on his face, and then in quick succession, relief, happiness, worry and curiosity.

"Charles!" he exclaimed, still holding on to the edge of the door. Charles threw himself into his father's chest and hugged him, tears starting to leak from the corners of his eyes. Logan was suddenly reminded how young Charles really was. 

His dad pulled him into an embrace, looking over the top of his head at the couple standing on the step. 

"Is… is he all right?" he asked Xavier, whom he had picked right off as the one with the greater authority.

"He's fine. We'd like to talk to you and your wife about him, if we may."

The man released one arm and motioned them inside without word.

Lars Mavissen looked worried. He had accepted the fact that his son was a mutant with perfect equanimity, had accepted Xavier's credentials, and was more than happy that Charles would be going to study in a place that accepted mutants for what they were and trained them to control their powers. At that moment, his wife Helen was upstairs with Charles, packing up his belongings to take back to Westchester with them.

"I'll be frank with you," he was saying, "Shortly after Charles ran away, we had several strangers call us, wanting to know his whereabouts, questioning us quite aggressively at times." His jaw set; he evidently didn't like to see his beloved son threatened in any way. "I was able to be honest with them, as I had no idea, and I think that is probably the only thing that made them leave us alone after a while. I have a feeling though, that they will be watching the house – this quiet street has had an increase in traffic… Helen notices that kind of detail in her work. I have been trying to find out my own information from these characters my own way."

He got up and walked into a small room, what was once a sun room perhaps, but was now filled with computers and all their related paraphernalia. Xavier and Logan followed, crowding in behind the tall man. Logan found the room a relief after the heavy-handed decor of the lounge, and that was saying something given her antipathy with computers. The other areas she'd seen of the house had been filled with wildlife themes; fall-leafed rugs, drapes with flying ducks, moose throws over the furniture, timber wolf cushions, and even the light fittings had small bronze squirrels clambering up them. 

Logan liked wildlife – but she preferred it outside. She shook her head to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"What did they look like?" she asked, "The strangers."

Lars glanced sideways at her with his blue eyes reflecting the light from the computer screen in front of him. "Nondescript. Apart from the first couple to arrive; they were in suits – kinda stands out up here." He glanced briefly at the Professor as he dug into a pile of papers on the desk. "Here, they gave me this."

Xavier took the business card, read it, and with a raised eyebrow, passed it to Logan. She read it silently: _Simon Despardes, Special Education Services, Department of Social Welfare._ She held the card to her nose and sniffed, to catch any scent still lingering, and filed it away in her head for future reference. She caught the odd look Lars gave her as she handed the card back to him, and smiled without comment.

Tapping away on a keyboard, Lars continued his story. "I've looked him up, of course, and found his name supposedly all legit and above board with a host of other names. However, I'm rather an expert at this, a real geek, so I dug about a bit, and found that _his_ entry had only been updated that afternoon, two hours before he visited. Interesting that they put such a new employee on a delicate case, isn't it? Especially when the entry claims that Mr Despardes has worked for the Department for nine years…" 

He spun the screen around to show them, then with a couple of keys tapped, showed them coded data proving his findings. Logan took him at his word – she had no time for computers.

"I've searched further, looking for information on Simon Despardes, and there is nothing, so I'm assuming it's a false name. I… I called a friend and got him to do a bit of digging around at Special Education Services, and he found that the fake information had been planted by authorisation of a _different_ sort of Special Services - a discreet unit of a government bureau involved in national security…"

"Hacking, Mr Mavissen?" Xavier asked, straightening up from looking over the back of Lars' shoulder.

"I want to know why these people are so interested in my son!" He was clearly angry now. "This is far more than the usual mutant xenophobia, even I can tell that. Oh, we had a few of _them_ around too, the FoH and other bigots, but this..." 

He paused, then looked up at Logan leaning against the door frame. "I want you to track them down, find out what they want with Charles… my son…"

"Me?" she said.

"Isn't that your mutant power? Tracking?" Lars was confused.

"Logan's main mutation is an accelerated healing factor, but yes, her secondary mutation involves enhanced senses." 

Lars watched Xavier as he moved to the doorway and looked down at Logan dispassionately. She knew he was planning something that involved her, and when Xavier nodded slightly, she knew he'd made up his mind.

He turned to Lars, still sitting in his chair. "Logan will stay here with you. We'll drop her off outside the city limits and she can make her way back here. She can be a visiting friend of your wife's."

Logan growled under her breath. Xavier ignored her.

"She'll do some 'tracking', as well as give you some protection. We'll take Charles back with us - it's obviously not going to be safe for him here - and do some searching from our end. I'll keep in contact with Logan."

Lars eyed the slouching woman dubiously when Xavier mentioned protection, but didn't say anything. Logan could almost read his thoughts; a small woman like that protect a six foot seven man? 

"I'll give you my e-mail…"

"We've other, more secure means of communication," interrupted the Professor. "I think it would be safest to presume that your lines have been tapped."

The blond man turned even paler than his normal colouring. "Then they already know what I've found out about them?"

"Not necessarily, but take no further chances."

No more was said, as Charles came bounding down into the living area carrying a huge duffel bag. His brown-haired Mom, wearing pictorial sweats featuring timber wolves, came down more slowly, struggling with a sports bag and a large suitcase. 

"We've left the unimportant stuff still in my room," the teen said, "to make it look as though I could be coming back."

"Smart lad," said Lars as he came into the lounge as well. He smiled at his son.

"We'll wait for you outside while you say your good-byes," said Xavier mildly. He shook hands with Lars and Helen, "Your son will be safe with us, I give you my word."

The tall man nodded. "I'm sure. Thanks for your help."

Xavier nodded back with a smile and left. Logan gave her own nod. "See ya later," she announced to the room, picked up the bag and suitcase with ease, and stomped out after the Professor.

She sniffed the air briefly – no one was watching them. "What was that about me stayin'?"

"You don't mind, do you Logan?"

"Nah. Some time away will do us all good." She grinned evilly. "Someone's goin' ta be in for a shock…"

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	7. A Little High Strung

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A/N: Thanks to those who emailed me - I didn't realise that there had been a problem with the posting of this chapter before - hopefully this time it's worked! Here we go, Logan with the Mavissens. How do they react? How do the townsfolk react to the new stranger in their midst?

Xiowolfe: I'm afraid you had to wait longer for the next chapter than I thought you would :( but never mind now, 'cos here it is!

Ann Nonymous: Thanks for your thoughtful review. I liked what you said about too much angst... I think Logan is old enough and his character is such, that he'd tend to move on without **too** much angst. I afraid I'm_ also old enough that I'm **way** past the angst stage myself! :)_

Hi!: Glad you like it!

Jean1: Logan gets 'straighter' in some ways as the story goes on, leading to funny situations (for us, not for poor Logan!)

Finally, darke-jedi: Woo-hoo! That's a great sketch! (People, take a look at it - ) You got her expression just right, heh. I'm humbled that my story would inspire you in such a way. 

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 7: A Little High Strung.

The air was fresh, and getting fresher as the twilight gathered. Logan trod on the loose seal on the verge, her boots crunching it underfoot as she walked back to the Mavissen's house. She had a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder, part of the emergency gear that every X-Man had stowed away on board the Blackbird - money, change of clothes, toiletries, and a few other, more esoteric items. The spare uniform she'd left on board. 

She liked being this far north; she'd be happier still even further north, but even so, the air smelt more of home here, with all the trees and wildlife. The reserve, and the near-by Superior National Forest, had a large part in keeping the place unspoilt. 

A beaten up truck that had once been white, pulled up beside her, the driver rolling down his window and calling out to her. 

"Hey, lady! Where you headed? Need a ride?"

Logan looked up at the middle-aged man. She judged, from what she could see of him, that he was harmless enough, just curious. He smelt of pine, engine oil and cigarettes. 

"Do ya know the Mavissens?"

"Yah, they live round the corner a ways. Hop in, I'll drop you off outside their place."

Logan threw her bag into the cab and climbed in after it.

"Thanks Bub."

"Where're you from? I'd guess Canada by your accent," the man said, making conversation, "I'm John Grant, work up at the lumber processors. How'd you know the Mavissens?"

"I'm an old friend of Helen's, knew her b'fore she married Lars. I was jus' passin' through an' thought I'd give her a surprise." Logan smiled. 

"Man, that's wonderful. A body can't have too many friends that they can afford to lose any, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah Bub, I do at that."

"Whereabouts in Canada you from?"

"Ontario. Up north."

"Uh huh. I don't know too many people from up there. You know George MacKenzie?"

"No."

John laughed. "I'm crazy, Ontario's a big place. Oh well, I had to ask; it can be a small world sometimes. You here for long...um?"

He was fishing for a name, as well as the other information. Logan had him pegged as the town gossip, and knew her presence would be known about by others soon. She didn't mind - giving him what he wanted gave her a more bona fide reason for being in the area.

"Logan," she replied, "I don' know how long I'll be here - d'pends how long Helen'll put up with me."

"Ha ha, probably only a few days then."

"Yeah, she always was a little high strung," guessed Logan.

"Yah, that's Helen all right," John chuckled again, "Logan. That's a funny name for a dame."

"No funnier than some o' them."

"Yah, that's true... Look, here we are. That's their place, with the green roof. I'll drop you off here so's you can make it more of a surprise."

It was almost dark now, and lights showed at the windows of the Mavissen's home.

"Thanks, Bub. I'll see ya around." Logan picked up her duffel bag, shook hands with John. He looked taken aback with the strength of her grip.

"Whoa, that's some handshake you've got there," he said grinning and flexing his hand.

"I practise."

As she walked away from the truck, Logan could still hear John's laughter above the sound of the motor. 

"Flamin' idiot," she growled, and turned to face the Mavissens' front door.

Logan finished another beer, much to the disgust of Helen Mavissen. Logan grinned at the dark-haired woman - she _had_ been surprised to see the mutant again, but accepted her presence after Lars had explained the situation. 

Still, she wasn't happy, mainly because of what she considered to be Logan's loutish behaviour - no offering to help with dinner or the dishes, no small-talk (polite enquiries had been rebuffed), and even worse, the way she had her feet up and was hoeing through Lars' beer supply.

"How am I supposed to pretend you're my friend - I don't know anything about you!" she exclaimed in frustration after yet another question had been ignored. Lars was no help currently squirreled away in his computer sanctum again.

"Look Darlin', no offence, but th' less ya know about me, the better."

"Folks are going to ask me questions; what answers shall I give them?"

"Make somethin' up."

"What?"

"C'mon Darlin', use your imagination."

Logan watched, amused, as Helen narrowed her eyes. Baiting the woman was about as much fun as she was going to get here.

"Are you a dyke?" Helen asked abruptly.

Beer sprayed out as Logan performed a sudden spit-take at the question.

Flamin' Hell, what sort o' question's _that_?" she spluttered, incensed, sitting up and wiping beer from down the front of her pants.

"You told me to use my imagination, so I did. You have absolutely no social graces, you dress like a guy, drink beer like one, and you call me 'darling' all the time, what else am I supposed to think?" She folded her arms, pleased to have got a rise out of the strange woman.

"No I ain't a friggin' dyke," Logan protested. She'd been accused of many things during her life, but this... She was glad that none of the other X-Men were around to witness the turn this conversation was taking.

"Do you love women?"

"O' course I do..." said Logan, without thinking; then groaned as she realised what she had just said. 

"There you are then. That explains it," Helen said smugly, as if she had scored a point. "I'm open minded. It will work..."

Logan stood up. "I'm goin' outside for a bit," she growled, and stamped off to the back door.

She stood on the back steps, leaning against the door frame and puffing on a cigarette, staring blankly out at the trees, which the porch light above her made dark and impenetrable. The temperature had dropped with the sun, though she didn't appear to be bothered by the cold. 

A dyke. As if being a woman weren't bad enough. She snorted. Three days. She'd allow three days for this business to be sorted out, then she was going back to the Institute and haunt the kid until he was able to control his abilities. Even the ribbing back there would be better than this.

She sniffed the air. Above the smell of the tobacco smoke, she could scent that there was someone amongst the trees at the far end of the yard. Watching the house, no doubt. She stubbed out her cigarette and turned back into the house, turning out the lights as she did so.

"Ya got someone watchin' out the back," she told Lars, who had left his computers, "My bet is there's someone out front too."

Lars scratched his head as he looked down at the woman. "What should we do?" He glanced at his wife, who seemed slightly alarmed. "Call the cops?"

"Don' be daft. I suspect ya goin' ta get another visitor - they'll be wantin' ta check me out. We'll let 'em, an' then I'm goin' ta pay _them_ a visit..." she grinned. 

Helen visibly shivered - there was something... feral... about that smile. 

"I'll go put some coffee on," she offered, and went through to the kitchen.

When the knock sounded ten minutes later, even though they were expecting it, Helen still jumped and slopped some of her coffee. Logan nodded in response to Lars' glance, as he got up to answer the door. 

"...haven't heard anything. No, I said we'd contact you if we did..."

Lars came into the lounge, followed by a man of medium height, black hair and sallow complexion, dressed semi-casually in a dark turtle neck and pants, and incongruous in a large red puffa jacket, as though he had been unprepared for the cold and had borrowed it off someone. The man's dark eyes immediately darted to Logan where she sat relaxed on the couch.

"Hello again," he said to Helen, who gave him a strained smile in reply.

He turned to Logan, assessing her. "I don't believe we've met?"

"Ya believe right."

"Simon Despardes." He held out his hand.

Logan eyed it, as if it were something offensive, before taking it and shaking. "Logan," she said.

Despardes put his hand in his pocket, and pointedly ignoring her, asked the Mavissen's _again_, if they had any idea where their son would have gone. 

"Well, unless he went to Minneapolis, or headed up north to Canada, no, no idea. We never travelled much for vacations, there was enough to keep us happy and interested around here." 

"Write me a list of places you did vacation to - they may give us some leads," he demanded, then turned to Logan once more.

"Where are you from, Logan?"

Was everyone he met going to ask her that question?

"I've come down from Canada - jus' passin' through, an' decided to drop in on Helen. Long time since I saw her last. Didn' know she'd had a kid. Didn' know he'd gone missin' either, if that's ya next question."

Despardes said nothing.

"I haven't seen her since high school," put in Helen, aiming to diffuse the tension, "She was... different then."

"Ya don' know the half of it, Darlin'," interjected Logan.

"Hey, Lo, remember Freddy?"

"Ol' Blue Eyes?" She played along, glad to see that Helen was working on the deception. She had thawed out considerably - wasn't that an 'extra' ingredient in her coffee she could smell?

"How we voted him 'Most likely to enter show business'? Well, he's finally made it - he's the singing rooster for Herman's Chicken Ranches."

"No kiddin'? An' after that stunt we pulled on him that Christmas, I didn't think he'd ever sing again..." Logan chuckled as Helen laughed, her eyes twinkling.

Despardes' expression hardened minutely in disdain at the gossip; Logan could sense the tension still within him, but he seemed to accept that she and Helen were old school buddies.

He turned to Lars, who was smiling at the two women, and said, "Continue thinking about your son's whereabouts please. I'll call back in a couple of days."

"Thanks for your concern," lied Lars as he showed him to the front door, "I'm sure we'll find him sooner with _your_ help than if we'd gone to the police..."

The man's head snapped up. "Police aren't interested in missing teenagers, not unless there are suspicious circumstances surrounding the disappearance." There was an implied question in his statement.

"No, of course not. You're right. Well. Good night Mr Despardes."

Satisfied, Despardes left.

"Whew," Lars leant against the closed door, "I wanted to strangle that slimy Son of a Bitch."

"Lars!" Helen exclaimed, giggling.

Logan rose up from the overstuffed couch, slipped her arms into her leather jacket and shrugged it into place. "Lock the doors," she said shortly to Lars, "I'm goin' off ta have a friendly chat..."

"You know, if I weren't paranoid already, I would be after a remark like that."

Logan only grinned.

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	8. If That's The Way Ya Want It Bub, Ya Got...

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A/N: Riiiight - FFnet seems to think I've got one more chapter than I actually have - ignore that please, folks.

OK, this chapter is a bit shorter than the others, only because I couldn't resist leaving it with a cliffhanger :) Here we see that Wolverine hasn't changed that much really, heehee. Thanks again for the reviews - they really make my day!

LilRouguE: here's more!

Kerewin: *hands over a cushion to make her comfy while she waits* I'm glad you're still getting a kick out of it! And as to your other comment, go here: http:// www .stuff.co.nz/stuff/dominionpost/0,2106,2547220a6000,00.html (no gaps)- I think you may find it amusing... or not, as the case may be...

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 8: If That's How Ya Want It, Bub, Ya Got It.

Slipping so silently between the trees, that not even the slightest rustle from the undergrowth was audible, Logan stalked her prey. The multi-layers of scents on the ground, on objects and in the air, she was able to read like a map - an olfactory map telling her what creatures had passed by and when, and what sort of state they were in. Every living thing releases a chemical signature, and if she had a lock on that signature, she could follow it as long as it lasted. Of course, the same tricks used against tracker dogs worked on her sense of smell too, only she was able to use her human brain to figure her way around such obstacles.

As she neared, she could hear the guy breathing, smell his aftershave, and that he'd had a beef casserole for his dinner. The figure was dressed foot to toe in black, but with his mind only half on the job - his gloved hands were tucked into his armpits, and he was stamping in an attempt to keep his feet warm. Logan curled her lip as she observed him; what a wuss, it wasn't yet winter...

She stayed concealed, watching the watcher, waiting. She remembered nights like these, staying still, making no noise - for hours, sometimes - waiting for her prey to make a move.

Logan judged that about three-quarters of an hour had passed when she heard a discrete _pip_. The gloved man fumbled around with zips before managing to remove a small cell-phone from an interior pocket.

"Hey," he answered it, keeping his voice at a level barely above a whisper. He listened for a while, turning in a circle and surveying his surroundings. Logan was confident she wouldn't be seen.

"OK," the man muttered into his phone, "No activity since last report." Pause. "Report to Base. Check." He flipped his phone closed and stuck it back inside his clothing. 

Stamping about again, he made no effort to conceal himself or be quiet as he took a torch from an outside pocket, and walked along a track lit by its narrow beam. After a few miles, the man and his unseen shadow arrived at a dog-leg stile, that led out into a semi-suburban street. Several bed and breakfast establishments lined either side of the street to cater for the summer and winter tourist trade, and the man, hurrying now that he was thinking of hot coffee and a roaring fire to warm his toes by, headed straight for one of them. 

He had absolutely no inkling that he was being followed, but hadn't even bothered to check either; a circumstance that lead Logan to believe he was an amateur - no professional investigator would remain so unaware of his environment while on surveillance. The fact he hadn't had his cell-phone on vibrate was the clincher. 

Logan slid up to the side of the house and put an ear to a window, drapes drawn, which she reasoned was the guest lounge, and listened intently. Sure enough, she could hear the agent inside complain about the cold and the boring assignment. Another voice hushed him, saying it was his turn now, and he didn't need to hear any of that shit, he was lucky the boss was still out, in his car out the front of the suspects' house, so he could stay in the warm as long as possible before having to leave. 

Another sign of amateur status - leaving their post unattended like that while they relieved personnel. 

Rapidly, Logan left the street and returned to the reserve, making her way back to the observation post to await the next watcher. She intended to question this one...

............................................

Leaving her hiding place and getting closer, Logan came up directly behind the man, who had been there for an hour and was not aware in the slightest of her presence. 

__

Snikt.

A sharp blade appeared suddenly beneath the guy's chin, up against his neck above his adam's apple and the scarf wrapped around it. One of his arms was twisted painfully up his back, and held in place by a strong hand.

"Huunnhhhhh." The man was caught unawares. He had no idea who it was who had sprung up so unnoticed behind him.

"If ya ain't interested in seein' the colour of your guts lyin' in front o' your feet, then keep still an' answer a few questions," a voice came, low and threatening. The unfortunate guy, on hearing a woman's voice, decided to fight back, thinking he was stronger than a woman and could easily overpower her, even if she did hold a knife to his throat. 

He brought up his free hand, grabbed Logan's little finger and quickly pulled it right back, intending to break it and get his assailant to drop the knife. That was his first mistake. Getting more astonished, he kept on putting all the strength he could into bending that finger back, but it was like trying to snap a steel rod.

"Can it," the voice hissed, jerking up on the arm behind his back, causing a sharp intake of breath.

The guy decided to take a different approach. That was his second mistake. He suddenly slammed his head back into Logan's face, and at the same time scraping his boot sole down Logan's shin, hard. 

Logan let go as the man turned to face her, but more in anger than anything so mundane as pain from a bleeding, broken nose and bruised shin.

"If that's how ya want it, Bub, ya got it."

The watcher stared, amazed that the woman hadn't made the merest sound indicating pain, and in fact seemed unaware of her injuries. She came nearer. He noticed something... odd, about her knife. Nervous now, he started backing a bit.

__

Snikt.

Two more knives suddenly joined the first... growing right out of the woman's very hand.

He had scarcely finished goggling at the sight, when they plunged into his abdomen.

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	9. At Least He Ain't Skipped Town Yet

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A/N: The Plot Thickens... mwahahaha... Not too much of Logan's 'feminine' side showing here, folks! I promise you though, I will intersperse chapters heavy in plot and action with more, shall we say, light-hearted chapters :)

And Wow! Thanks for all the cool reviews!

XioWolfe, Wierdlet, LiLRoguE, Stormie04, black fox: I love all your comments, thank you so much for them :) And for those of you who are interested, I **will** touch on a certain monthly issue in a later chapter - probably not how you expect though, heh. 

Ice Angel: I like to throw different things into the mix! I'm glad you're enjoying my writing. You'll see more Kurt later. And I **am** being nice to Logan! True!

Kerewin: Anxiety relieved, at least until the end of this chapter. . . And I like the picture you painted of Logan, heh :)

Cheers,

Apteryx (BTW, 'Cheers' is a NZ thing, like 'Bye', 'Cya' etc. Just so you know ;) )

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Chapter 9: At Least He Ain't Skipped Town Yet.

Logan knew what she was doing. She had been careful only to pierce the non-vital parts of the guy; after all, she was intimately familiar with human anatomy. So while there was a bit of blood about, the guy would live. 

"Ya goin' ta talk?" She had pulled the guy along until he was propped sitting against a tree; she herself was seated on a large fallen branch next to him. She had also used the guy's scarf as a makeshift bandage. He'd do.

"Wh-what do you want to know?"

"The usual - who are ya, who you work for, what ya doin' skulkin' around th' place..."

The man shifted, winced, then sighed. "You're whacko."

Logan growled.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you. My name's Lloyd Cape. I work for Simon Despardes of the Department of Social Welfare; Special Education Services. I'm watching the Mavissen place 'cos we think the boy might try and sneak back home, and we want to make sure of his well-being."

"Well, that's a nice bowdlerised little fairy story..." Logan casually sliced through several sections of a branch with her claws, then inspected them for sap. "How 'bout ya tell me the uncensored version?"

Lloyd started sweating despite the cold. "The only thing I know, is Despardes doesn't work for the Department - it's a front for something else; still government though."

"I'd figured as much. Go on."

"It's something to do with mutants, I think..." He stopped, and his eyes widened as he took in the implications of what had just happened. "You're a mutant!" he gasped.

"Don't be too gutted," said Logan, snarkily.

Lloyd gulped, then winced again as the movement disturbed his middle. "Uh... I overheard him on the phone to someone. He mentioned biosecurity and... uh, protecting America's interests. And a place. '...near Emlenton...' he said."

"Emlenton, eh?"

"That's what he said. I can't tell you any more, except he likes his comfort - he doesn't like being up here."

Logan only half listened to the man's ranting about his boss; evidently Despardes was the one to go after if she wanted more information. She glanced at the injured man. He could stay there till morning until somebody discovered him; he was warmly enough dressed he wouldn't get hypothermia. 

__

Snakt.

She retracted her claws and got up, turning to go back along the trail without a further glance at the man. 

"Hey, wait! You can't leave me here!" he yelled in panic, "I'll bleed to death! Or freeze!" 

Logan could still hear him yelling a mile away. 

Back at the Bed & Breakfast, Logan carefully picked the lock at the rear of the house, and made her way in. She had taken note of the fact that Despardes' car was parked out the front, meaning it likely he was in. She fingered Lloyd's cell-phone in her pocket that she had removed from him earlier - no chance of a warning call to alert Despardes of her visit.

Silently she climbed the stairs, testing the steps for creaks before putting her full weight on the tread. Silently she listened at each closed door, Silently she crouched down to floor level to sniff the gap under the door. The fourth room was Despardes - she had got a lock on his scent when he shook hands with her. Grateful that she had had such teachers as Storm and Gambit, she quickly picked the simple lock and entered the dark room. Logan moved further in almost like a wraith, then stopped and cursed. Despardes was not there.

Opening the drapes partway to allow the street lighting to illuminate the room, Logan searched the room. Apart from impersonal items; the toiletries, the clothes - she checked their pockets - there was not one piece of paper or other medium containing information, not even one of the false business cards.

"At least he ain't skipped town yet."

She re-traced her steps and left the house. Standing in the shadows at the side of the bed & breakfast, she glanced towards the car and wondered where _Mr_ Despardes was. She circled the car, peering into the empty interior - well, if anything were in the car, it would be locked up in the trunk anyway. 

She was about to force the lock with a popped claw, but paused, hearing a small sound. The car was alarmed. That was no good - she could disable the alarm using her own methods, but not without making some racket to begin with; it was better not to attempt it.

A stuck-up man like Despardes, would probably keep all his important papers and stuff with him, in a prissy little briefcase. Logan figured he'd probably caught a cab into the town centre or something. She'd catch up with him tomorrow morning. 

She pulled out one of her cigars and smoked it as she strolled leisurely back to the Mavissen's. Maybe it wasn't so bad here... She also took another object out of a pocket - a tiny comlink, set in tune to Cerebro's sphere of operations; it would connect her up with Xavier and enable her to communicate with him. 

"Hiya Chuck. I hope I didn' wake ya," she said cheerfully.

"Of course you did Logan. What is it?"

"Need ta know what the Gov'mints interest is in Emlenton - where ever that is - some sort o' secret base?"

"Is it important?"

"Could be. Despardes is connected somehow."

The was a sigh the other end. "All right Logan. And Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, wait until morning will you?"

Chuckling, Logan closed her link and blew a long plume of smoke out from her mouth, savouring her cigar.

The lights were all out when she got back - well, it must be early hours of the morning by now. She let herself into the house - and stopped with one foot set on the threshold. 

She could smell the scent of the first watcher, inside. From how fresh the scent was, he'd been there since she had left tonight. Listening, she could hear no sound at all, not even the soft sounds of sleep. Quickly she strode through the house, checking the main bedroom upstairs to find the Mavissen's gone. There was no sign of any struggle, but at the same time, she could see their clothes from the day still laid out. 

She caught the faintest whiff of something else; an acrid chemical smell. She guessed the Mavissen's had been drugged, using a syringe. The kidnappers must have been confident - they hadn't even checked the guest room where she was supposedly asleep.

Hurrying downstairs again, she searched for more signs - and got them. Yes, Despardes had come back by how recent his 'signature' was too. At that instant with her super-sensitive hearing, Logan heard as well as felt the vibrations from the cell-phone in her pocket. She flipped it open and grunted in reply.

"Lloyd. Depardes here. I've achieved my objective, so your services are no longer required."

"What about my money?" Logan whispered into the phone, knowing that the whispering wouldn't seem unusual in the circumstances.

"It will be filed into your account, as agreed."

"Wait a minute... How do I know you'll follow through? Give me a contact address for you - a phone number's not good enough."

"It will do. Your contract is terminated." There was a small blip and nothing. Despardes had rung off.

Logan stood in the middle of the over-populated lounge, turning her head slowly from side-to-side as she tried to think. She had failed the Mavissen's. Lars' would think his impression of her was right. Xavier had left her here to protect Lars and Helen, and she had failed miserably. Had he guessed something was going to happen? 

And the only lead she had to their possible whereabouts was Emlenton. And that was where the Professor had to come through for her.

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	10. It's Not The Same

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A/N: Gidday! I'm back again, bringing you a further instalment for your delectation and entertainment. So. How does a woman who has a serious case of the grumps cheer herself up? That's right, Chocolate! Unfortunately, Logan doesn't know about that remedy...:)

I'm getting spoiled with all the nice reviews I'm getting, but don't let that stop you... I like getting spoiled ;)

Hi!: Yeah, there's been some sort of muck-up when FFnet was crapping out a while ago, so it thinks I have one more chapter loaded then I do. Ignore it please!

Ice Angel: No beating up at all, not even on other people, lol.

darke-jedi: Thank-you. I don't want to make it too _easy for Logan!_

Kerewin: This chapter's not a cliffhanger! And here's another Kiwi-ism for you while you wait for more; Kia Kaha - Be Strong! :)

Xiowolfe, LiLRoguE: Without further ado... here is Chapter 10:

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 10: It's Not The Same.

__

Knock knock.

"Go away."

The knocking became more insistent.

"Piss off!" 

"Logan?" A hesitant voice asked. Logan sighed. The one person in the whole Mansion she had really wanted to avoid. Charles. 

Should she presume that Chuck had told him about his parents? Or was that her responsibility. She supposed it was, since she'd been the one who failed to look after them.

"Hang on," she called out, then sat up and swung her legs off the bed on to the floor. She padded across to the door and opened it, standing there in t-shirt and jeans.

"Come in."

Charles looked at her worriedly, his grey eyes searching hers to see if she was really angry. He was a couple of inches taller than she; Logan guessed that he still had some growing to do, given his father's height. 

"Um. Dr. McCoy sent me to get you. He said... he said to tell you that if 'Logan doesn't get her sorry butt out of her room, then I'm going to drag it out for her, and it won't be a pretty sight.' Sorry, that's what he said..."

"Yeah? He and whose army?" she said, her ferocious scowl intimidating Charles even further. Then to his surprise, she laughed.

"I'd better do what Blue wants. Truth is... I've been avoiding _you_..." Time to bite the bullet.

"Me? Wh-why? Is it 'cos I..."

"Nah, it ain't that. I - I lost your parents."

"Lost them? What, like in the mall?"

"No. They've been kidnapped. Snatched. My fault. I shoulda been watchin' them."

Charles was silent for a bit, as he took in the information Logan was giving him. 

"They - would've been kidnapped if you'd never been there anyway. But I wouldn't have known about it, and now I do. Thanks to you." He was trying hard to see a positive light in the news.

"Ya know, you're a very forgivin' sort o' kid." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I swear that I'll get them back for you. I promise ya. At th' moment though, I'm kinda stumped."

"Are they after me?"

"Probably. But they won't get ya. Chuck'll see to that." Logan walked around the bed, picked up a shirt off the floor and started putting it on. "'Sides," she continued, "They don' know where you are. We don' know where _they_ are either, so that makes us even."

She grabbed the boy's shoulder again and propelled him out of her room.

"So, what's Hank so bustin' about anyway? You turn one of his Twinkies into a salt lick or somethin'?"

"...something in the nature of a progress report."

"What, already?" Logan looked at Charles, both her eyebrows raised in surprise, "You're a fast worker kid."

"I've had four days..." remarked Charles, somewhat sarcastically. Logan winced internally - had she really been holed up in her room for that long, brooding? She guessed she had.

"He's been working extremely hard at this - I'd surmise in atonement for your condition..."

Logan pulled a face. "Yeah, well, as far as that goes, we're even now."

"No we're not!"

"Look, I jus' said so, kid. Don' talk back."

"Ahem," interrupted Beast before the squabble escalated into something they might all regret. "Notice, here we have a particularly robust specimen of Davallia fejeenis, otherwise known as Rabbit's Foot Fern due to its creeping rhizomes covered with hair-like scales." He beamed benignly at them both. "Now, young Mr Mavissen, would you be so kind...?"

Charles gave a nervous grin back, then turned to the steel bench on which rested a pot containing a small fern. He extended his arm, and with a slightly shaking hand and a look of intense concentration, touched the plant. 

Logan watched fascinated as the plant began shaking violently, drooped, wilted almost to deliquescence, then firmed up again, changing from fronds into something resembling small blue-grey spikes all coming off a bunch of upright stems. Finally, the plant sat there, still again, as if it had always been that way.

"What is it?" asked Logan, glancing at Charles, who looked suddenly tired.

"Uh... a plant?"

Beast peered over the top of his glasses closely at the plant, and prodded it with a careful paw. "Hmmm... at first glance, it appears to be a Euphorbia - most probably a rare genus given its unusual colouring. I'll have to look it up..."

He turned to his computer, completely ignoring the other two standing there.

"Ya mean you still don' _know_ what you're turning it into?"

"No, but I have enough control now that I can do it when I want, and not just when I'm under stress," said Charles defensively.

"Very useful, I'm sure," Logan said sarcastically.

"Hey, I didn't think that was bad for four days work! I'd like to see you try..."

"Sorry kid," muttered Logan, "Ignore me."

"Kinda hard to do, you know..."

She grinned and ruffled the boy's hair. He swatted her hand away and grinned back.

"...I was right. It's Euphorbia glauca, a threatened plant from New Zealand." Hank smiled. "Storm _will_ be pleased."

Logan raised an eyebrow, as Hank scooped up the pot plant and exited the lab. She and Charles followed; it was time for dinner anyway.

It was a full complement at the table that evening; students and teachers. As she walked in, Logan realised that this was the first time everyone had had to see her in her altered state. Imperceptibly frowning, she helped herself to a full plate of that night's offerings, before going over to the table where most of the X-Men were seated. Hank was there already, presenting the newly-formed plant to Ororo, who took it with a delighted smile, running an elegant hand over the top of its leaves. 

"At least someone's gettin' some benefit from this situation," Logan grumbled good-naturedly as she plonked herself down on a vacant chair. 

"Oh, Logan, it's wonderful! I'd never have acquired all these rare beauties without Charles. And all I have to do is donate my common and easily propagated varieties to Hank," she said, her blue eyes sparkling.

"Glad ta hear it, Darlin'."

Ororo smiled widely. "You haven't really changed have you? Only your outward appearance. It's strange seeing and hearing you like this and knowing that it's you."

"Wan' ta run that past me again?"

Ororo smiled again, and went back to her meal. Logan sat there feeling rather pleased herself at the indirect compliment she'd received. She stated eating too, then the person sitting on her other side turned to her. It was Jean.

Logan smiled at her, waiting for her reaction.

"I believe you're enjoying this, aren't you Logan?" she said, with a small smile in return.

"Heck no, the only thing I'll enjoy about it is the chance to get closer to you without ol' One Eye there givin' me the evil eye."

Jean glanced at Scott on her right, then leaned in to whisper into Logan's ear. "I don't think he'll like it no matter what gender you are. Just so you know."

"Ya sure know how ta spoil a guy's fun."

"Who, you or Scott?"

Wan' ta find out?" Logan smirked back.

Jean waggled a finger, and was about to reply, when there was a sudden squeal behind them. 

"Omigod! It's true! Holy Crap! I thought they were having me on!" Logan turned to see Jubilee standing there, hopping from one foot to another in her excitement. 

"Calm down, Pun'kin, you'll have a coronary."

"But Wolvie! You're a girl!" She stopped abruptly at the growl that emanated from Logan. "Um...

There was some general laughter as Jubilee's cheeks turned bright red and she fled the room in embarrassment. 

"Bet that's the first time anyone's called you a girl, huh Logan?" called out Sam across the tables.

"And th' last," she replied, glaring at him.

Later, in the rec room, Logan found Jubilee curled up in the dark in one of the armchairs in front of the TV, which was providing the only light in the room. 

"Hey, half-pint," she said.

Jubilee squirmed and her face became pinker as she acknowledged Logan's presence. "I'm sorry, Wolvie, y'know, about before..." she trailed off, not sure how she would take her apology.

"It's all right kid. Ya know, I've been so absorbed in m' own reactions, I forget that it'd be kinda tough on others close ta me too." She perched on the arm of the chair and laid an arm around Jubilee's shoulders. Jubilee was silent, staring straight ahead at the TV screen. With a shock, Logan saw tears reflected on her cheeks. "Jubilation..."

The girl sniffed and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

"I'm OK. I'm more worried about you. I-I know I go on about your lamoid macho posturing, but it's not the same if you're not a male..."

"Hush, hush, it's OK pun'kin..." soothed Logan, stroking Jubilee's straight black hair. "I've been worse."

There was another sniff, smaller this time.

"Yeah, I guess you have," Jubilee smiled, "What about that time in Tokyo when you..."

"Well, I got ta go," Logan stood up suddenly.

"Hey, you know? We could, like, go shopping tomorrow, just the two of us."

"Now I _really_ got ta go!"

Jubilee giggled.

As Logan left the room, she heard a small voice, one that only she could hear.

"Get back to your normal self soon Wolvie. It just isn't the same..." 

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	11. A Sensible and Pragmatic Woman

_A/N: We get a peek into the War Room this chapter... and I think a couple of Kiwi-isms have snuck in - see if you can find them :) I should probably also mention that while there_ is _actually an Emlenton, PA, the one in my fic only bears a superficial resemblance to the real deal (as did Aurora, MN, earlier)._

Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers. *big grins on reading reviews*

Weirdlet, Xiowolfe, Stormie04, Drina, & tigressong: each and every one of you cheer me up immensely with your reviews!

Ice Angel: I think that Logan took it as a compliment that she/he hadn't changed - inside, where it counts. Something like that anyway. It was probably my writing...:)

Kerewin: I knew you'd like the bit with Jean :) I'm glad you feel I'm keeping the characters true - I'm trying my best!

Cheers,

Apteryx

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**Chapter 11:** A Sensible and Pragmatic Woman.

Logan, when you've a minute, can you come and see me?

If there was one thing she hated, it was early morning calls from the Professor. Logan yawned hugely, grumbled a bit, then turned over to get some more sleep. 

Two minutes later she was up and throwing on some clothes over her boxers and singlet. She'd forgotten that she had actually asked for Xavier's help, and now he must have some news for her regarding Emlenton. Either that, or he wanted her to baby-sit someone else.

She yawned again as she thumped down the stairs; it was too early for most _sensible_ people to be up, but that was something she was hardly ever accused of. There was a difference between being _sensible_ and being _pragmatic_, though Logan scratched the back of her neck as she tried to remember the last time anyone ever accused her of being pragmatic either. Blasted memory playing tricks again... 

She stood momentarily at the bottom of the stairs, re-adjusting the belt on her jeans - stupid thing was too large and kept slipping down to rest on her hips; what was she going to do if it slipped right off? She supposed that at least she _had_ hips now...

So, in a typical early morning grumpy mood, Logan at last reached Xavier's office. She didn't bother to knock, but walked straight in. He wasn't there. Logan groaned; Xavier of course had not given her his location.

Chuck! she called out in her mind.

In the War Room, Logan

Great. She went down in the elevator, thinking about Charles' parents, knowing the types of horrible experiments and procedures that could be inflicted on them in the name of 'science'. Or 'public safety'. Every day that passed meant their chances of being unharmed became less. She hoped the Prof had some good news for her.

The door opened with her presence, and Logan walked into a room filled with masses of media and communication devices. Monitors covered the walls, with one particularly large screen taking up a good amount of the space. A few keyboards were either up against the walls, or attached to the few chairs scattered about the room. Professor Charles Xavier was currently occupying one of these chairs, staring at a series of numbers that ran down one of the screens.

"What's up?" Logan asked, coming up behind Xavier.

The numbers slowed their progress down the screen and stopped.

"I'm just finishing running the last part of the data I've been able to retrieve from the cell-phone you gave me."

Logan chuckled. "I'm surprised the guy ain't tried phonin' his own number. But then again, he prob'ly don't want ta run in to me again."

Xavier ignored this.

"Unfortunately, I've been unable to trace any relevant details - it's all too easy to buy a phone and give out false details."

"And Emlenton?" Logan growled, "Where does that leave us?"

"Ah. There I _have_ been able to have more success, albeit of a limited scope. Here." He tapped a few keys and the large screen sprang to life. "This is the town of Emlenton, Pennsylvania. It has all the standard government departments, federal and state, that would be expected in a town of its size." A large map of the town appeared, with several spots highlighted. "None of these seem to be other than they are."

"What if Despardes works for some private crowd?"

"Well, he could, but I did discover a place that's a possibility that I think we ought to check out first." The map moved, zooming north into the countryside out of the town. Along a rural road, a location was highlighted. 

"This is the Emlenton Agricultural Utilization Research Facility." The map zoomed in, magnifying a cluster of buildings. "It's quite possible that this facility is entirely legitimate - their website certainly seems to be - but I have been able to find that rather more security staff than is normal have recently been hired. Also in the local newspaper, the 'Emlenton Chronicle', I found a small article that had someone complaining about the secrecy surrounding the research projects. Of course, that could be the usual paranoia the word 'research' generates nowadays, but it could be something more." The map image on the screen morphed into a three-dimensional image of the buildings and grounds and did a quick revolve around them, giving different viewpoints. 

"No layout of the interior of the facility was available." Xavier leaned forward and tapped a key.

Logan heard the muted sound of a printer, and from a slot in the wall, a printout shortly appeared. She strolled over and ripped the paper out, and studied the copy of the map and the 3-D images for a while before folding it up and slipping it into her pocket.

"Who's goin' ta..." she began, turning back to Xavier, when the room erupted into chaos. 

Spinning, she looked back at the screens, covering her ears from the piercing sirens. Xavier had sprung to his feet and was intent on the images flickering across them.

After a few seconds, he said without taking his eyes from the monitor screens, "I'm afraid you'll have to investigate Emlenton yourself, Logan. The X-Men are needed to deal with this."

Seeing that no further help would be forthcoming, she nodded, and left the War Room in a hurry, glad to get out of the immediate range of the siren.

She felt slightly odd, seeing her team mates rushing past her, some already dressed in their uniforms, responding to the newest threat. However, what she had to do was important as well, an amorphous threat to their most recent recruit.

Throwing a few items into a duffel bag, Logan then went down into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and a bite to eat, figuring that with all the activity breakfast would have slipped the minds of quite a few. She was right, but nonetheless found Charles there, pouring Sugar Bombs high into a bowl. 

"How c'n ya eat that piss-awful stuff?" she commented mildly as the boy poured milk over them.

"Easy," he said, and started spooning the cereal into his mouth with the voracious appetite of a teenager.

"Gack." She opened both doors of the huge fridge and peered in, grunted and pulled out a plate of leftover sausages, knocking the doors shut with a foot. Giving the sausages a small sniff, she then nuked them in the microwave until they started spitting. Meanwhile, she threw four slices of bread into the big toaster, and took a few bottles of sauce from a cupboard, placing them on the table. 

Charles watched her out the corner of his eye as she spread thick wads of butter onto the toast and sat across the kitchen table from him, and began to eat the huge plate of greasy snarlers covered with four types of sauce.

"Geez, and you criticise my choice of food. I'd hate to think what your cholesterol's like."

"Fine," said Logan, grinning around her mouthful, "Healing factor..." She slurped her coffee. 

"What's all the panic this morning? I was up extra early in Hank's lab, and he threw me out. Boom. No explanation."

Logan looked at Charles' curious face. She had seen many students pass through Xavier's doors, many of them learning what they could and returning back to their homes to try and live a normal life. Not all stayed to become part of an X-team. Some just didn't have the temperament. She was willing to bet though, that this young man would have what it took, and would be a valuable addition to a team one day. 

Xavier was right. She had to find his parents; they couldn't risk alienating him.

"No panic, standard emergency. Ya get used ta it - could be anythin'; mutants gettin' beaten up on, th'Brotherhood attackin', invasion from outer space..."

"You're kidding, right?" asked Charles at the last bit.

Logan sat calmly wiping the remainder of the sauce up from her plate with a piece of toast. "Naw. I don't kid. It's happened. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got ta go. See ya 'round, kid."

She picked up her duffel and went to the door, leaving her plate on the table. "Ya got classes today?"

Charles nodded. "Yeah. First day. That's why I was up so early..."

"You'll be OK. Stick ta plants though, not classmates," she teased as she left.

In the garage, she looked over the motorcycles. She had recently acquired two well cared-for vintage bikes and had yet to take them any decent distance. She ran a hand over the 1930 Excelsior Super X. A light-weight bike compared to others even of its own era, but it could outperform many of them too. However, she wanted something with a bit more grunt. Her eye slid over to the model parked next to it; a 1936 Harley-Davidson EL Knucklehead. She grinned - it would do the job. Slinging the duffel bag across her shoulders, she kicked the bike into action, relishing the throaty roar as she took off down the drive, away from the Mansion.

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	12. Compensatin'

_A/N: This chapter's pretty much a road-trip interlude sort of thing, though Logan does learn some pertinent information at the end of it. I've included a sneaky pun in there too, if you can find it:) And hold on to your hats, 'cus the next chapter has a kick like a run cow!_

Many thanks to my faithful reviewers! I'm really enjoying writing this and I'm glad you're enjoying reading it too. :)

Stormie04: I believe that the Professor is now walking again... I'm sure I read this somewhere. Can anyone confirm this? I shamefully admit I haven't read any recent X-Men titles... :(

Kerewin: A snarler for you! Or is tat a banger? :) When I re-read the chapter, I also found 'piss-awful', which I think _is Kiwi slang. Logan also wears a singlet - I'm not sure what else this would be called - an undervest? A tank top? A wifebeater?? Mostly, I try to write using American terms, since the fic is set in the States, although my spelling is whole-heartedly Kiwi!_

Ice Angel: Well I thought so! Thanks for the encouragement.

Xiowolfe: Maybe we'll find out... but maybe it will be one of life's unexplained little mysteries. :) *inclines head regally*

LiLRoguE: As you wish!

Oh and by the way, for those of you who are Stateside; Happy 4th of July!

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**Chapter 12:** Compensatin'

After several hours on the road, Logan needed a pit stop - gas for the bike, food for herself - so she pulled over at the next truck stop she came across and filled up with gas, then rode over to the attached diner. It was a fairly busy place, given that it was servicing a major supply route, and Logan felt she'd be at home amongst the clientele, until she stopped her bike and was dismounting from it. A couple of truckies having a yarn together by their rigs, paused and unashamedly stared at her.

"That's quite a bike you have there. Is it your boyfriend's?"

"Nah, it's mine."

"For real?"

"Yeah, fer real."

"I'll be darned. It's unusual to see a woman riding sich a powerfu' machine. You alone?"

"What's it to ya?" Logan narrowed her eyes. She thought she knew which direction this conversation was heading.

The truckie with red fuzz sticking out from under his cap, and wearing a stained vest, spat copiously. He elbowed his buddy and smirked.

"Only, if you like riding powerful machines, we'd be happy to oblige, Slug and me."

Slug moved closer, a large, doughy type of man, with wet fleshy lips. Logan thought of the times she had protected women from creeps like these two, and had to admit that this wasn't one of the pleasanter aspects of being female.

"Sorry. You're over-compensatin' for somethin' an' I don't have ta guess what it is either," she said as she walked between them to head for the entrance. 

Fuzz grabbed her arm to stop her as she walked past, only she shrugged his hand off no trouble and kept walking without even a backwards glance. 

"You think you're tough, huh? What are you, a lesbie?" Fuzz snarled as he came up to her again, Slug on her other side. "Grab her, Slug. We'll show her what a real man is like."

Logan sighed. For once, just once she'd like to be unhassled, no matter what gender she was. 

Both men grabbed an upper arm each, holding her tight. Logan simply used her strength to reach up with her forearms behind them, seize the backs of their necks and smash their heads together. She dropped them, unconscious, to the ground and walked on, stopping only to unobtrusively pop a claw and puncture a few tyres on their rigs. The _inner_ tyres.

There was nothing to make her stand out once she was inside the diner, and she enjoyed a late lunch before making her way outside again. She found a few people surrounding the still unconscious couple, debating whether to call 911 or to leave them, figuring they had fought each other, so could resolve their differences when they came to... No-one seemed to notice the flat tyres on the two truckies' rigs. 

"Hey Miss! Do you know first aid?" Someone called out as Logan walked by.

"Hey! Miss!" He called out again, louder.

"Eh?" Logan turned, having not realised at first that it was she who was being addressed. She gazed at the two men; Slug had his mouth open and his cheek was now lying in a pool of dribble. Fuzz's cap, which hadn't saved his head, was tilted backwards. "They'll be fine - mebbe have a headache fer a while."

"Thanks."

"No probs." 

She got to her bike to find someone standing over it, openly admiring it. 

"This your bike?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, cautiously.

"What a wonderful old Harley! A great model - from the thirties?" 

Logan could see that the guy was genuinely interested in the bike, not its owner, and lightened up a bit. "Yeah, 1936, the first year fer overhead valves, a real classic, though '41 an' '47 were good years too."

The guy chuckled, his thin face creasing up with wrinkles making him look suddenly older. 

"An enthusiast, I see. I remember having a 1947 - bought it second hand as a teenager in the '50s - great machine, genius design." He sighed. "Of course, I'm too old now for motorbikes, but it's good to know that a younger generation cares for the early models."

Logan grinned; her '47 Knuck' had been factory new, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"Some of us do," she agreed. "Excuse me now, but I got a long ways to go yet."

The man smiled and shook her hand, "Have a good journey. I wish I was forty years younger..." he said wistfully, eyeing the bike again.

"So do I, bub, so do I..." Logan gunned out of the diner's parking lot and back onto the road, laughing.

It was four in the afternoon by the time Logan reached the outskirts of Emlenton, via Interstate 80. She'd only had to stop a couple times more, to repair a loose rear chain, and for fuel and oil for the Knucklehead. She also took the chance to stretch her legs a bit. 

She crossed the river and drove down the main street, noting the old Victorian buildings still standing. Spying a café, she decided on an early dinner and maybe some information gathering before going out to look at this supposed Research Facility. There were a few curious glances at her bike from passers-by, but nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing at all directed towards her. 

Feeling that it was easier to be unnoticed as an average height female rather than a very short male, Logan entered the café, _The Big Wheel._ It had an obvious railroad theme to the décor and was bordering on tacky, but Logan hardly noticed it. She chose a table and sat down to read the menu the young and pretty waitress who introduced herself as Eulalia, handed her. 

Straight off she ordered a brew to wet her throat. "Thanks, Darlin'," she said, eyeing up the friendly waitress appreciatively when she brought her drink to her. "D'ya know someplace I can stay fer the night?"

"There's a couple of B&B's down on River Street, or motels on the I-80," she replied, interested in the stranger. 

"D'ya know anything 'bout the Agricultural Research place out o' town?"

Eulalia brightened, "That place? I thought you were here for the oil at first, the way you're dressed. Are you a scientist?"

"I'm the best there is at what I do," said Logan evasively.

"Wow. I guess scientists aren't known for their dress sense."

Logan stared at her blankly; what was wrong with the way she dressed?

The blonde woman gave a small cough, embarrassed, then continued. "They used to be a real friendly bunch, coming in here fairly often - not much else to do if you're not into outdoorsy stuff, you know - but lately we haven't seen as much of them. And they've hired more people - security guards and the like - but none of them locals, which has pissed a few folks."

"Yeah, I guess it would. So scientists don't count?"

"Oh well, you know, they're not exactly thick on the ground..." She smiled, then remembering her job, took out her pad and pencil. "So, what'll it be?" 

Logan gave her order which arrived promptly; the eatery wasn't busy at this time of afternoon. Eulalia hung around, watching her eat.

"You've come a long way today?" she asked. 

Logan grunted.

"I thought so, you've ordered enough food for three. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, tell me about this big-shot at the Facility I got ta meet tomorrow. Des...?"

"Des? Oh, you mean Desmond Simones?"

"That's him," admitted Logan, smiling to herself. Not so far off _Simon Despardes_.

"_He's_ the one who's changed most over the last few months. If you ask me, money's the cause of it. Some problem with a blown budget or something." She glanced at Logan, suddenly unsure when she realised that as a new employee, the last thing she'd want to hear about were money problems. 

"I don' mind hearin' the goss, Darlin' - I'm only here a short time." Logan continued eating while the waitress chatted on.

"Well, if you ask me, he's always been uptight, you know? Anal resentive or something. He always had to have his meals just _so_ when he came in here." Eulalia paused, looking at Logan, "I don't think you'd get on too well with him, you know? He's all 'yessir', and you don't look the type to clean boots, if you know what I mean..."

"Not hardly."

The waitress grinned. "I thought so. Word is going around the place, that the sort of research they're into is all this genetically modulized stuff they don't want the public knowing about. You don't know anything about that, do you?"

"Nah. I ain't so keen on bein' genetically altered."

"My thoughts exactly. These mutants you hear about, at least they're born that way, can't help it. But to tinker with all that stuff on purpose, well, I don't like it."

She calmed down. "Well, I guess you'll find out what they're up to when you get up there tomorrow. Coffee?"

"Yeah, ta."

Back presently with hot, black coffee, the waitress leant against the table, watching while Logan drank. Logan began to get faintly annoyed with her hanging about, now that she had got the information she wanted out of her. In other circumstances, if she had been her normal self, i.e., male, she might have lingered, chatted the waitress up some more; but as things were... 

Sculling back her coffee, not caring that it scalded the roof of her mouth, Logan stood up and stamped over to the counter to pay for her meal. Eulalia seemed disappointed that she wasn't about to stay and chat for longer.

"Have a nice evening," she said, "Steiners is the place to go if you're looking for a bar later."

"Thanks, Darlin'. I'll keep it in mind." 

Logan stood on the sidewalk outside the café and sniffed the air; no rain tonight, although it was overcast. Good, that suited her purposes admirably. 

She had absolutely no intention of visiting any bar this evening, and especially not one recommended by Eulalia. No, she was going after action of a different kind...

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	13. Goody

_A/N: The action begins... heh. And the pun last chapter? That's right: Eulalia means 'to talk well'. Well,_ I _thought it was amusing anyway. :) I'm also really chuffed that I'm getting such nice reviews - I rush and turn my computer on first thing in the morning to read them, and it truly does make my day. Thank-you all._

Felidae:Is that you or Logan happy? :) Thanks for your bonza comments, heh.

Ice Angel and Stormie04: Thanks. I'm trying to write the supporting characters as real people, and real people can have hugely differing viewpoints on things!

Xiowolfe: Here's more! I had a great time writing this chapter, heeheehee! 

Kerewin: Hee, that would be a good law - would the reverse apply also? :) And I'm just amazed that I'm somebody's favourite author! Wowee!

Cheers,

Apteryx

************************************************

**Chapter 13:** Goody...

The sun was low to the hills on her left, glinting off the river snaking slowly in huge meanders as Logan gunned her Knucklehead north, heading towards the Agricultural Utilization Research Facility. She smiled at the sensation of the cool wind blowing through her hair, making it more swept back and pronounced than normal. No traffic, no rules, just she and her Harley and the oncoming night, and maybe, the promise of a little action. 

Eventually she came to the turn-off, a small road going east. She had noted the hilly terrain and the small farms dotted in amongst wooded areas; plenty of cover for her as well as any subversive outfit that might be operating in the region. She took the turn-off, but only followed it for a short distance, before pulling over and pushing her bike into a stand of trees until it was hidden from the road. The Harley made too much noise to be unobtrusive. 

Some might think it sacrilege to leave such an antique model out in the damp and the night air, exposed to the elements, but Logan had bought it as a working bike, not a museum piece to be shut up in an airless garage. What was the fun in that? The only fun Logan had out of having it in a garage was seeing Scott's face the first time he saw her two new motorbikes.

As she chuckled at the memory, Logan stripped off her outer clothes to reveal a sleek, black leather jumpsuit, emblazoned with the X symbol. Xavier had got a couple of new uniforms made for her after her makeshift efforts for the Danger room session, not knowing how long she'd be in this form. Logan had been loath to accept them; somehow they seemed to give an air of permanence to her condition, which she didn't appreciate at all. However, as Xavier had said, she was far too valuable a member of the team not to have available if necessary. So Logan had grumbled about it, but in the end had taken them. And now she was wearing one. 

Logan bundled her clothes into her duffel bag and began the trek to the Facility; she knew it wasn't far, and she wanted to have a good look around before going in after the Mavissens, to have some idea of what she was up against. She also didn't want to put Lars and Helen at further risk if possible. 

The small woman smiled to herself, a feral looking grin that showed all her teeth. This is what she had been trained for in the past; special covert operations, strikes and rescue missions.

Standing at the edge of a wood - the last of the available cover - Logan observed the Facility at the closest point she could, after having circled the compound. There were several long, low buildings, sixties in style, as had been indicated on the printout she had got from the War Room. But there were also several greenhouses, panes painted white to diffuse the light that entered them and that also stopped anyone from seeing the inside. 

There were a number of people moving about the grounds; many of them that Logan could see, were employees who had finished work for the day, and were now on their way home. However, amongst them were a few uniformed and armed guards, dressed entirely navy blue. Logan watched them for a while. 

She could tell by little things, such as the way they moved and the way their eyes shifted around, that these guys were professionals, not merely hired goons like Lloyd in Aurora. They were obviously more than your bog-standard security guards then. 

Every time the door opened to let someone out, Logan caught and noted their scent signature; so far, although she had smelt Despardes - _Simones_ - on a couple of them, there was no sign of either Lars or Helen. Logan wondered what the men were guarding; was it only the Mavissens? Or something more?

Practised at waiting, Logan waited longer. Long enough that supposedly the last of the employees, except Simones, had left the premises. Long enough that the sun had disappeared over the horizon and although the sky was still bright, deepening shadows had gathered about. 

Now was the time to get closer, before any security lights came on and before the guards became entrenched in their evening routines. Logan gently and carefully made her way to the nearest of the greenhouses and slipped around to the door at the narrow end. She tried the handle - fortuitously unlocked - and entered. 

Immediately the smell hit her senses; a rich, almost sweet-and-sour scent that brought back memories of her time in more tropical climes. However, the climate in the greenhouse was nothing like the tropics, it was warmer than outside, sure, but not hot. Logan stalked between the rows of elevated pots, all bearing plants and labels. She read a few of them, surprised to see that most were in fact not tropical; tobacco, linseed, flax, hemp, nettle, hollyhock, wheat, marshmallow, milkweed, and pea. What? 

Even she recognised the names of _these_ plants - why were they such common ones? Nothing out of the ordinary here.

Moving to the side of the greenhouse, she stood on tiptoes to reach a panel of glass at the back of the bench, and popped a claw to scratch at the paint until she had scraped a patch large enough to see through. She had a good view of the door of the main building from here, and she used it to watch the men outside carry out their patrolling.

Then, after a time, the door to the staff entrance opened and Simones stood at there. Logan saw him motion one of the guards to him, and saw Simones telling him something. Logan could see from his face that he was obviously not in a good mood; his mouth was set in a tight line. He gestured at the guard, who presumably protested about what he was being told. Frustrated at only seeing what was happening, Logan quickly went to the door of the greenhouse, and slipped outside, standing concealed by the corner as she listened.

"...thing, next time watch what you do when entering the security code - he saw you and was able to escape, for a short time, anyway. Now, go and get all those things on the list pronto."

"Yessir!" snapped the guard, and turned about towards the car-park. "Fucking tight-arse, I'm not your errand boy..." Logan heard him mutter under his breath as he left. 

She risked peeping around the corner; Simones was still standing there, staring off after the other man, but his attention was elsewhere, thinking of something quite unattached to the guard's errand. Whatever it was, it was not making Simones any happier. Logan's nostrils flared as she caught the distinctive scents of the Mavissens emanating from Simones' clothing as he finally turned to go back inside.

So, she thought, grinning at the guard's apt description of the dark-haired man, he does have the Mavissens after all; good on Lars for using his initiative. Then she frowned. Something was off, and it wasn't Simones' after-shave either. Why were top government troops taking orders from Simones? What was the point of kidnapping the Mavissens as a supposed lure for their son, if there was no indication of their whereabouts? What made them so certain that Charles would find them? It was all pretty screwy...

"Hey you!"

Logan cursed silently - she had been so engrossed in thought that she had failed to pay any attention to her other senses, and now she had been spotted. As she turned slowly, she glimpsed the wall of painted glass beside her, and realised that she hadn't been exactly inconspicuous wearing black against a white background.

"Hands away from your body. Turn and face the wall!" a voice barked at her. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the guard raise his weapon, a military handgun, most probably a Beretta. She ignored the order, but stood and waited to see what the man would do. 

The man had evidently been told to 'shoot first, ask questions later' upon signs of resistance, because Logan's keen ears picked up the sound of the gun being cocked. In the split-second before he fired, Logan threw herself backwards into the greenhouse behind her, shattering the glass and one of the benches she landed on. 

Pots, dirt and bits of plants went flying as she rolled and quickly leapt onto the other bench at the side of the greenhouse facing the staff entrance of the main building. The sound of shots being fired and running feet followed her as she smashed through the glass and hit the ground running, claws on both hands extended. 

She was covered in cuts from the glass, some of them, especially those on her back, quite deep from the shards she had landed on. Blood was running down her face from a couple of lacerations on her cheek and chin, and her uniform was slashed and bloody as well.

By now, the noise and commotion had attracted the attention of the other patrolling guards, and two of them came running, arms drawn, ready to assist. 

Logan roared and ran straight towards them without hesitation - too late now for any subtlety - and had the satisfaction of seeing uncertainty in their eyes just before she was upon them; slashing at their guns before they got a shot off, piercing an arm on one of them, then spinning around to puncture a shoulder on the other. A couple of elbows jabbed into their solar plexus', and those were two men who wouldn't be attacking again in a hurry. 

The original guard that shot at her was now coming up behind her, and having used all ten rounds from his gun, he was frantically trying to load a new magazine into it before reaching her. Seeing that he was not going to have any luck in time, he threw the gun down and unsheathed a large knife. 

Logan smiled, an only partially amused grimace. "Hardly fair, ain't it? Six against one." And she held up both her hands to show her 'knives' to the man. To give him credit, he gamely still went in to attack, assuming a pose that showed that he had had some martial arts weapons training. Jeet Kun Do, Logan guessed by his posture. 

She almost laughed at him when he said "You may be a cutie mutie with knives growing out of your hands, but I've had training in combat. You're also at a disadvantage with the injuries you've sustained and subsequent loss of blood."

"What injuries?"

As the guard was momentarily taken aback to see blood but no cuts on her face, Logan took advantage of his distraction and quickly disarmed him with a quick flick of her wrist and a twist, gripping his hand in a lock and moving in close to his body, so that her face was close to his. 

"I've had more combat trainin' than you, Bub, an' live combat too," she growled. Then she suddenly moved under his arm and flipped him to the ground, breaking his arm in the process. Seeing him moan but try to get to his feet, she lashed out at his legs with her claws and severed his hamstrings. 

"That ought ta hold ya," she muttered, as she looked up to the sound of an alarm sounding and more guards pouring out of the building.

Her eyes gleamed. "Goody. My kind o' odds..."

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	14. Evil Knievel's Ain't Got Nothin' On Me, ...

_A/N: OK, I'm flying by the seat of my pants for this one - be warned: there's some violence in this chapter as well. Ha, I've just been informed that I speak a mutant form of English - and I don't think they were referring to X-Men either!_

katdat: Thank-you! I'm glad you're liking it.

Ice Angel: Um... small for a man, average for a woman? Oops, slip up on my part :) However, Beretta M9 semiautomatics do have magazine clips (ammunition) that go into the grip. And I don't know the first thing about guns - I looked it up on this great Internet!

Kerewin: Hee, I won't - her even worse mood wouldn't be worth it:) Yeah, you're right: linen flax=linen=linseed. My only excuse is I must have been thinking of NZ flax (Phornium tenax) (Oh Apteryx... defensive, much? :) )

Cheers

Apteryx

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**Chapter 14:**Evil Knievel's Ain't Got Nothin' On Me, Bub!

Adrenaline pumping, Logan launched herself at the new guards with a roar, ignoring the flying bullets, only a couple of which hit her anyway.

"My God! It's a woman!" she heard one of them yell in surprise, before being knocked over. There was a short melee; since guns were useless to the men at such close range, they resorted to knives and fists and feet, none of which did them much good against Logan's claws and her fighting skills. One had the bright idea to use a taser on her; that just made her mad. The guy ended up partly electrocuted by his own weapon, as Logan used her claws as a conduit.

Although Logan was engaged in fighting her way through the men, she was also keeping a figurative ear open for a certain sound. There it was, as expected.

"Sorry, play-mates. Got ta end the fun now."

A short whirl of activity, claws flashing in the security lights, and a pile of injured guards lay sprawled about on the concrete. Logan retracted her claws and ran across the fields back to where she had stashed her motorbike. 

What she had been listening for was the sound of car doors - what she had heard was the small beep of a car alarm system being turned off. She had figured that Simones would get panicked at the sound of the fighting, and try and escape with the Mavissens in tow.

She kicked her bike into life and roared out onto the road just as the car, a dark Ford sedan, passed. Keeping her headlights off, Logan followed, slowly increasing her speed to catch up with the car. She had no doubt that the occupants had heard the Harley, because they began to pick up speed as well. Logan knew she didn't have much time left if she wanted to stop them; a modern Ford Crown Victoria LX had a greater speed than a vintage Harley-Davidson Knucklehead EL. She gave sudden full throttle to the bike to come up to the car's quarter-light. 

__

Snikt.

With a move worthy of Evil Knievel at his peak, Logan stood up on the saddle and leapt onto the roof of the car, her claws piercing the roof near the front of the car. She could hear screams from within, some muffled, and the car began to swerve wildly in an attempt to shake off its unexpected passenger. Logan winced slightly at the sound of a small crashed behind them; it had been a good bike...

The driver of the car was obviously not practised at evasive manoeuvres; that plus the fact Logan had a good grip, meant she was able to stay on as she started ripping through the roof and peeling back the metal and fabric. The screams continued, but only the muffled one this time: Logan guessed that the other scream had been Simones, and now he was concentrating on his driving. 

There was a gun shot. The bullet went flying through the roof, just missing Logan's face by inches. 

She calculated the originating point of the missile, and punched down suddenly through the weakened metal, and grunted in satisfaction when she felt and heard her claws come in contact with flesh and bone. 

The screams intensified, and the car wobbled dangerously. Having taken out the accompanying 'security' guard, Logan knew she'd have to finish this quickly now before a panicky Simones lost control of the car and sent it and its passengers into the deep river just to the right of them. 

Tearing off the rest of the roof she'd been working on, Logan jumped down into the interior, in between the driver and the slumped body of the guard. She wrinkled her nose as she recognised the sharp ammoniate smell from inside the cab.

"Pull over now, Bub!" she growled at Simones, the claws on one hand still extended and now pointed at his neck. 

His eyes were almost leaping from their sockets, and sweat poured down his face in trickles. His arms were shaking, and his knuckles on the steering wheel were white; the car was wobbling even more than it had been moments before. 

Logan almost sighed as she realised that Simones was in such deep panic that he was virtually incapable of carrying out any orders whatsoever. She grabbed the steering wheel herself with one hand, and with the other, slowly pulled up the handbrake. 

Thank flamin' Christ for anti-skid and traction control, thought Logan as she brought the car under control and managed to steer it to the shoulder of the road. She finally stopped it on the verge on the opposite side of the road and let go the wheel. Simones sat there shaking and bubbling, so Logan ignored him for the moment while she twisted around to see how the Mavissens had held up to their unforeseen rough ride. 

They had both been handcuffed with their hands behind them, and gagged. They were still wearing the pyjamas they'd been captured in, and looked as if they were feeling the cold through the thin and dirty fabric. Helen was leaning against Lars, whimpering under her gag, and her wide eyes wet with tears, but on seeing Logan's face she stopped making any noise. Her eyes went wider, if that was possible, with recognition and shock. Lars was pale, apart from a large black eye, but his eyes stared steadily at Logan with mute acknowledgement. 

"How ya doin'? You all right Darlin'?" Logan asked them both, then, with a small chuckle, reached out with a claw and carefully tore their gags off. "I ferget - ya can't say much w'those things fillin' ya gobs."

Released of their gags, Helen immediately started taking huge breaths of air, almost hyperventilating, while Lars cleared his throat, turned his head to the side and spat, then spoke up.

"So, there _was_ a bit more to you than just tracking skills..." he said, glancing at her hand and the claws still thrust out from between her knuckles.

"Yep." With a _shnakt_ sound, Logan retracted the claws and absently rubbed at her knuckles as they visibly healed. "I'll deal to these bozos, an' then we'll see if we can't get ya more comfortable."

She leaned over and opened the passenger door, then pushed the guard out onto the road. Jumping out herself, she grabbed him under the arms and dragged him to the long grass on the verge and left him there. Then she opened the driver's door and pulled an unresisting Simones out.

She watched him dispassionately as he sagged against the side of the car. He looked as if he had given up, as if he were totally beaten, but remembering his attitude back at the Mavissen's place in Minnesota, and the lengths he had gone to kidnap them, Logan didn't trust him one bit. She searched his pockets, finding and confiscating a small handgun, a set of keys, a cellphone and a palm pilot. 

Leaving him briefly, keeping an ear on his movements, she nipped inside the rear door and used the keys to unlock the handcuffs from the couple. Then she left them rubbing their wrists while she turned her attention back to Simones. He had edged away from her, and was now crouched up against the hood of the car. 

Logan sniffed. He may have been trying to get away, but at the moment it was from pure fear, rather than cunning. She took the handcuffs and cuffed his feet together, and then his hands behind his back. She lifted him up, slung him over her shoulder and carried him around to the front passenger door where she then dumped him in the seat. 

He was still blubbing and the sound was beginning to irritate her; Logan ripped a strip of fabric from Simones' suit jacket and used it as a gag. 

"Quid pro quo..." she muttered, as she tugged the knots tight, and the man closed his eyes in dread.

"Right, let's go back ta the Facility. I want some answers."

She hopped in the car and turned it back the way they had come, stopping twice on the way - once to pick up the wreckage of her bike, and the other to pick up her bag. In the back seat, Lars had an arm around Helen, comforting her while she repeated 'Oh my God' to herself, over and over like a personal mantra. 

When they reached the main building, Logan jumped out, telling the Mavissens to stay put for a sec. She cautiously walked around the corner of the building, listening closely, but all the guards were still out of action. She grinned and went back to the car. 

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	15. No FairyTale

_A/N: School Holidays = Domestic Chaos = Less Time for Writing :( It should all be back to normal next week... though not for our friend Logan!_

Xiowolfe: More wimp-guy in this chapter for you :)

Angel: Thank-you_! I promise to finish - I_loathe _unfinished stories - so please don't die!_

Felidae: I know, I'm sorry. I sobbed too - all that brass and beautiful red and gold paint finish. However, things were built tough back in the day; maybe we'll see it restored to all its former glory??

Kerewin: Heehee - I guess Mr Simones now has smaller ankles than he used to, *giggle*. Yeah, NZ flax is used now mostly for Harakeke (Maori weaving), but it also makes great paper :) (I'm also a great fibre-lover!)

Ice Angel: Yes, the dénouement _with the Mavissens will definitely happen in a future chapter. Be ready for it._

Stormie04: Heh. Cool pun. ;)

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**Chapter 15:** No Fairy-Tales.

An hour later found Logan leaning back in an executive chair with her booted feet up on a desk, sipping at a glass of whisky. Lars was slouched in a large armchair cradling a large mug of coffee, and Helen was curled up in a second armchair almost asleep, with an empty mug on the floor beside the chair. Empty plates from their improvised dinner were abandoned on the coffee table in front of them. 

The Mavissens were both dressed in an assortment of clothing that they had scrounged from throughout the building - they may have looked odd in mismatched pants and tops, but at least they were clean and warm. Lars' pants hems flapped about his lower legs due to his height, and he was wearing sandals over socks as they couldn't find any shoes about large enough for his feet. Helen had discovered a maroon wool coat that was a voluminous wrap-around, and she snuggled into it gratefully. 

She hadn't even protested - much - when Logan, who'd had a decidedly wicked twinkle in her eye, had sloshed some whisky into her coffee.

Earlier, Logan and Lars between them, had dragged and carried the injured guards into the plain, small room at the back of the building where Lars and Helen had been held captive. Logan sniffed in disgust; a bucket in the corner was there for use as a toilet, and the bedding was a blow-up mattress with a couple of shoddy looking sleeping bags on top. 

That had been all the facilities the Mavissens had had for five days; even prisoners had better accommodation than that. 

As they laid the men out, Lars looked worriedly at the state that a couple of them were in, but Logan said gruffly that they'd survive till tomorrow, and so they'd been locked up and left.

Lars then led the way to Simones' office, which he'd seen once the day after they'd arrived. Logan had carried Simones in and dumped him in an upright chair in the far corner of the plush office; no sense in letting him become too comfortable. 

"An' then what?" Logan asked, swirling the single malt whisky, a Strathisla, around in her glass. Trust Simones to have the good stuff.

"Well, I was able to work out the combination, so I used it. Unfortunately, I had no idea of the time, and it was just my bad luck that Simones and one of his nazis caught me before I had the chance to find a phone." Lars gingerly touched the bruise surrounding his eye. "They'd also frequently used a taser on me, and even a couple of times on Helen. She's got a mouth on her..." 

A low rumbling sound surprised him - it was Logan, growling deep in her throat. "I promised Charles that I would find ya," she said, "but I ain't happy that I didn't find ya sooner."

"Don't be. I'm amazed that you found us at all... Now what?"

"I'll contact Xavier, then I suggest we give the ol' third degree to Ramrod there in th' corner."

As she reached into her belt for a comlink, she noticed Lars surreptitiously stare at her hands; apparently he was still coming to terms with the destruction and chaos he had seen, and the irrefutable evidence that she had been the originating source of it. 

She guessed that he was also trying to let sink in how, courtesy of his son, he had been thrown into the deep end with a wholly different set of people and circumstances. When he had learnt that his son was a mutant, he had accepted it because he loved his son. But he had only accepted the fact of mutancy mentally, not emotionally. Now, he had to work on the whole reality. 

"Hey, anybody home?" Logan called into the small silver device.

"Logan. Any success?"

"Yeah. I've found them. We need transport back though - can ya arrange it?"

"Just a moment..." There was a pause from Xavier as he presumably transmitted a request via telepathy. "Beast and Nightcrawler will be with you within the hour. Is there anything else?"

"Nah, nothin' I can't handle. Thanks Chuck."

"We'll see you shortly Logan." The link was severed.

Logan tucked the unit back into her belt, wishing that a cigar was considered part of the essential field equipment. She sighed and swung her legs off the desk. She was still dressed in her now rather tatty uniform, covered with dried blood, not all of it her own. She could have easily taken the opportunity earlier to change back into her jeans and shirt, but knew that, especially for a type of guy like Simones, her uniform would be more intimidating. Besides, she was still on semi-official X-Men business.

Lars watched as Logan stalked over to the corner where Simones was. The tough woman picked Simones up, chair and all, and carried him to the middle of the room and put him down again with a thump. Lars quickly glanced at his wife, but she was now fast asleep, exhausted. 

Logan popped a claw and roughly ripped the gag off Simones' face. She left the claw extended as she crossed her arms across her chest and glared steadily at the bound man. 

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't serve your viscera to ya for dinner," she growled threateningly.

Simones gulped, gave a small cough and spoke, in a rather high pitched voice. "I didn't mean any harm. You've got to believe me!"

"What did you mean? An' no fairy-tales; I can tell if you lie..."

Simones hung his head briefly, his lank hair flopping over his brow. "I'll...I'll start from the beginning..." he mumbled.

"As long as you start, I ain't fussy."

He gulped again, and began his story.

"I'm a research scientist, pushed into administration. Our funding is being cut unless we come up with a commercially viable and successful product. We've been working on biomaterial processing - making a renewable resource that's got so many exciting applications. We can use plants to manufacture petrochemical substitutes; biodegradable plastics, lubricants, solvents, pharmaceuticals and the like. 

Do you realise a discovery like this could end America's dependency on foreign oil-producing countries? Not to mention the environmental impact. I've been particularly interested in developing a biopolymer for a high-value foam application that could take the place of polystyrenes." 

He licked his lips nervously and continued.

"We recently received the news that other countries are beating us in the development of these technologies. I was becoming desperate for a breakthrough... Anyway, I know someone with National Security in Minneapolis, and he mentioned in passing that they had found a new mutant, whose mutancy appeared to be the ability to alter DNA. 

"By coincidence, I'd just read a paper about the external control of genes in plants, whereby selected genes can be enhanced so that with a certain trigger, the product we want can be biosynthesized. I thought what if this process could be speeded up? What if I could get this mutant to do it? 

"So I asked my friend if he could do me a couple of favours... I set up the false information, and my friend - who doesn't know the details - lent me authorisation and, uh, security for the Facility. I had to supply my own for Minnesota." 

Simones stopped and looked at the water-cooler against the wall, then glanced at Logan. She had seen the direction of his glance and knew what he wanted, but decided to let him suffer for a while longer.

"Yeah, pair of flamin' amateurs the both of them," muttered Logan, "though I think one is busting a gut for a change of career." She chuckled to herself, and Simones went quite pale.

"Unhhh... Uh, when I found out the mutant had run away, I became obsessed with the thought of getting him - I-I thought that he was my only hope for the success of the project. I came up with the whole charade, thinking he would eventually come back to his parents. When that failed to eventuate, I became convinced they were lying to me about his whereabouts, so I kidnapped them, and brought them here to try and get the truth out of them..."

Logan shook her head in amazement. If she hadn't heard the man's stupidity first hand, she would have found it hard to believe such a tale. He'd patently must have become delusional to cook up a plan like this; no wonder his demeanour had collapsed like a piece of soggy MDF when his plan went so far awry due to her timely intervention. Lars had a look of total disbelief on his face as well, and Logan didn't blame him.

Catching Simones' eye, Logan made sure she had his full attention before asking a question.

"Why didn't ya just tell them the truth, that ya wanted the boy to work fer you?"

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	16. The Flyin' Tin Can

_A/N: Here I am, back again! Life is now back to its normal pattern, so expect chapters to be somewhat regular..._

smeg: Thank-you so much for your lovely comments - I'm squirming with pleasure at them! No, I don't get writer's block (at least, not so far; touch wood :P), though at times I'm more inspired, heh.

darke-jedi: Still writing it! :) Thanks!

Ice Angel: Oh yeah, I forgot about the old guy - I can't disappoint him now, can I? :)

Xiowolfe: Yep, a couple of sammies short of a picnic, heehee.

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**Chapter 16:** The Flyin' Tin Can

Simones' mouth fell open. "I-I didn't think... I thought..."

"All you had to do was explain want you wanted - I'm sure Charles would have been happy to help without all this - this subterfuge!" Lars was almost spluttering with indignation.

"B-but what if he didn't want to?"

"Then that would be his choice. All ya had to do was ask. It ain't no good now - too late ta repair the damage you've caused. I think we'll leave ya here to explain all this ta your superiors. We'll just give them a little call ta alert them an' acquaint them wi' the facts..."

"No! Why would they believe you? You're a terrorist!"

"Ya want ta tell them a single woman was responsible for all this? Go ahead." Logan popped out two more claws to go with the first.

Simones jumped, and practically fell off his chair.

Logan laughed and retracted her claws. "Nah, they might not believe me, but they'll believe Lars and Helen, specially after the way you squealed."

She had observed Lars' hardened expression, and knew that she was right.

"The media will be very interested to find out about misappropriation of government funds, and what really goes on in 'research' labs, and I don't think National Security will be too happy to have their unwitting involvement out in the open either," he said.

The bound man was totally slumped in his chair now, the very picture of utter deflation, as he slowly understood the mess he had made of his career and life. He had started blubbing again. Logan looked away from him, partly in disgust, partly in discomfort; there was something wretched and deplorable in watching a grown man cry in self-pity. 

She turned to Lars as she heard a low humming sound from outside.

"Here's our ride. Ya ready?"

Lars looked about the room, then at his sleeping wife. "I'll be glad to leave this place," he said.

"Then let's go." Logan shouldered her bag, then went to pick Helen up. 

"No. I'll take her," protested Lars, and he tenderly cradled Helen in his arms and followed Logan out of the office without a backward glance at the man left alone in the centre of the room, his clothing soaked with mucous and tears.

The Blackbird had touched down in one of the experimental pastures and was awaiting them with the ramp lowered. As they walked towards it, Lars with his eyes as boggled as his son's had been when he first saw the jet, Logan remembered who it was that Xavier had said was coming to pick them up.

"Uh." She paused, shifting her wrecked bike over her shoulder. "Ya know I'm a mutant, right?"

"As Charles would say, 'yeah, duh!'," Lars chuckled. He wiped a strand of Helen's hair out of his mouth where it had blown.

"Yeah. Well some mutants... their mutation's effected their appearance. You're about ta get first-hand experience of it."

"I think I get your warning - expect strange sights."

Logan nodded at Helen, "Pity we can't prepare her; she'll need the warnin' more than you."

Lars sighed. "You're right. But she'll get over it quickly enough. Once she knows that that's how things are, she's fine."

A voice called down to them from inside the jet.

"Entschuldigen Sie, meine Freunde, are you getting a move on already? There's a chill vind blowing up the Frauenrock!"

Lars raised his eyebrows, as Logan burst into laughter at the comment.

"He's callin' the access ramp a lady's skirt," she explained to Lars. "I think he's got the wrong term... but how apt!" She continued chuckling as she climbed up the ramp and into the interior of the vehicle. She dumped her Harley in the back with the various pieces of field equipment, and turned to help Lars in with Helen and show him where to seat her. Helen stirred as she was belted in, but still didn't wake.

"Die Frau, is she all right?"

Lars turned his head towards the owner of the concerned voice, and seeing a man who blended into the shadows of the dim interior standing next to him, he couldn't help but stare. 

"She's asleep..." he said, his eyes still not leaving the other man's face. He was looking at someone who not only had blue skin - fur? - but also had glowing yellow eyes.

Kurt chuckled at Lars' astonished stare. "Ja, I get that reaction a lot. The staring... but it is better than the alternative, so I don't mind."

"I'm sorry. I guess you do. I'm Lars Mavissen."

"Kurt Wagner, at your service." He gave a little bow and showed him to a seat near his wife. "I will sit at the back with you, I think," he said as Logan pushed past him to get to the co-pilot's seat, giving Lars a wink as she went by.

She heard them start up a low conversation as they prepared themselves for the journey. The elf, despite his startling appearance, would be a good companion for Lars, to help ease his mind of the emotional traumas he had suffered over the last few days. 

Logan glanced towards Hank. "C'mon, let's go home."

Helen woke as the jet was coming in to land.

"Lars?" she asked, still not completely awake. Kurt leaned back into his seat at the question; better to let her husband prepare her first.

"Yes honey? I'm here. We're in a plane going to Mr Xavier's school. Logan and two of her, ah, associates are here too."

"Xavier's school? Then we're going to see Charles!"

"Yes, and others like him," replied Lars, putting emphasis on the last three words, and giving his wife what he hoped was a significant and meaningful look.

"Oh," she said, not totally sure. Then she saw Nightcrawler. "Oh!"

"Mr Wagner and I have been having a talk about those silly old thirties movies you like so much," he said jokingly, forestalling any further comment from her until she got used to the idea of Nightcrawler. "He likes them too."

"Ja. _Captain Blood_ is vun of my favourites."

Helen's eyes lit up. "Really? You like Olivia De Havilland then?"

Lars grinned as the two found a common interest.

Up in the cockpit, Hank was busy with the landing procedure. Logan peered around the back of her seat to the others behind. She could see Helen and Kurt engaged in an animated conversation, and Lars ignoring them and craning his neck to try and glimpse the instruments in the cockpit. Logan heard the topic and smiled to herself. Who'da thought that Helen would have accepted Kurt so readily? 

Then the corners of her mouth turned down into one of her customary scowls. She almost hated that she herself had accepted her female form so readily - she didn't need any 'insight' into the female psyche; her psyche, sure as hell, was still male, and going to stay that way if she could help it!

The Blackbird landed with a slight bump, and Logan immediately unbuckled and ducked back into the passenger area.

"C'mon, let's get out of this flyin' tin can," she said to the people, as she hit the ramp opening button with her palm. 

The Mavissens followed her out, not sure what to expect of a school that had the use of such hi-tech facilities. Seeing Kurt fully in the bright lights of the underground hanger, Helen was taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly when he smiled at her and said mildly, "A good setting for a spot of svashbuckling, nein?"

However both Helen and Lars were considerably more than taken aback when Hank finally exited the jet. Lars was unnerved to be looking directly into the eyes of a blue feline-like mutant; it wasn't often he met someone of his height. Hank's mass though, was very much larger than the lanky computer professional's. 

Logan heard Helen's sharp intake of breath and smelt the sudden fear on her as she gripped her husband's hand hard and half hid behind him. She was shaking imperceptibly; her knees ain't goin' ta hold her up for much longer, Logan thought, taking a couple of steps back to reach her side. Kurt was still chatting to her, oblivious to her terror or the cause of it. 

"...and the grace, the sheer vonderful exuberance of his on-screen persona..." 

"I take it ya ain't met Dr McCoy?" interrupted Logan, "He's been tutorin' ya kid; Charles has taken a shine ta him."

"Charmed, I'm sure. Your son has amazing potential, a bright young student indeed. You must be proud of him." Hank had not missed the woman's typical reaction to his presence, and was very gentle in his response. 

"Yes, we are," replied Lars.

At the same time Helen said, "Charles? You've seen Charles?"

"He was enjoying the rather vigorous pursuit of manning a PlayStation2 controller with one of his classmates when I departed. No doubt he will still be occupied in the same avocation at our return - I gather it's his form of relaxation after his first day of communal lessons."

"He hasn't been in the Danger Room yet then," put in Nightcrawler with a grin. 

Logan chuckled. "C'mon, Xavier first. Your kid'll keep."

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	17. Wo Druckt Es Dich Denn?

_A/N: Well, this is a bit of a 'nothing' chapter, though it does have interactions between Logan and some of the denizens of the Mansion - I enjoy writing these. :) I_ am _slowly heading somewhere in my own fashion..._

Xx-Disturbed-xX: Thanks for the compliment about the accents - I've never personally heard a Cajun speak (though the singing is great:) ), but I have been around native German speakers. I think as long as you don't overdo accents they come out fine (I have a sneaking suspicion I'm overdoing Logan's a bit though.) And I'd have no idea how I'd actually write my own accent - I speak with a New Zilind one, heh. I wouldn't be so mean as to keep Logan a woman... though she may have to suffer more indignities before she's back as a man. :D

Ice Angel: I can tend to waffle on in my stories, filling in details that amuse or entertain me, but not necessarily other readers. I suspect university had something to do with that - trying to reach word limits with scant material to work from. :) I think that now that Lars and Helen have a son who's a mutant, they're becoming more adapted to strange sights... I'm having a small internal giggle because I can see a time when large blue furry mutants would be more normal than people dressing up as animals (Furries)! :) Oh, and you can borrow them when I've finished the story if you want.

Stormie04: Yay, I'm happy! Thank-you! I liked the idea of all-that-trouble-for-nothing too, heehee.

Xiowolfe: Yeh, I like Nightcrawler too, especially his swashbuckling side. :)

Cheers,

Apteryx

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**Chapter 17:** Wo Drückt Es Dich Denn?

Once in the Mansion proper, Kurt excused himself and turned a corner. Logan heard the distinct _bamf_ sound of his teleportation, and knew he had been politely circumspect at using his powers in front of the Mavissens. Helen walked alongside Lars, still clinging tightly to his hand. She still jumped slightly every time Hank twisted around to talk to them. Logan mused how she was able to accept Nightcrawler's appearance, but not Beast's, even with the amusing and erudite speech coming from the blue mutant. 

A minute later they were sitting in the library with Xavier taking a seat in front of his desk, as usual. Logan leant against a bookshelf, arms folded, wishing vaguely for a cigar, as the Professor went through the required pleasantries with the tired and overwhelmed couple. Logan didn't know why he bothered; a few 'how-are-you's', and 'we'll-make-you-comfortable-tonight-in-a-guest-room's', weren't going to make that much difference to their state as far as she could tell. 

She was wrong. She noticed Helen relax more than she had since falling asleep earlier, even in spite of Hank's bulk filling one of the armchairs to the side. Logan narrowed her eyes and glanced at Xavier; was he doing something else besides talking?

"I'll send a contact to 'clean up' loose ends with Mr Simones, that is, unless you want to press legal charges against him?"

"No," replied Lars with a quick side-long glance at Logan, "He was tremendously misguided, and I think he's had enough of a shock that he'll co-operate fully." 

Logan grinned, showing all her teeth.

"Hmmm. Well in that case, you can leave it in my hands." The professor stood and looked down at the objects on his desk; the items that Logan had earlier confiscated from Simones. As much as I deplore your methods, Logan, I must admit they get the required results. And before you get too cocky, you can escort the Mavissens back to their home tomorrow, he added into Logan's mind.

I ain't capable o' bein' cocky, Chuck, she replied pointedly. 

Xavier kept a straight face, and returned his attention to the couple in front of him.

Having assured them of their safety and wellbeing, and that of their son as well, Xavier motioned the Mavissens out of the library. "You'll want to see your son now," he said.

In the rec room, Charles and Jamie were so engrossed in the graphic game they were playing, that they didn't notice the adults who entered.

"...got you! You are so dead."

"Oh yeah? Watch this..." Thumbs moved rapidly about the controller. "Eat lead and die!"

The colourful figures on the screen jumped about in jerky movements in their drab metallic setting.

Logan chuckled at the scenario - kids at the Mansion pretty quickly grew out of computer games once they began Danger room training. I wonder why? she thought ironically. 

Lars didn't look the least bit amused at the game; it was probably a smidgen too close to reality for him and his wife just now. 

Charles had twisted his head around peering over the back of the couch when he heard Logan chuckle. He did a double take, then dropped the controller and scrambled over the couch and ran into his parents' arms.

"Mom! Dad!" he exclaimed as they gathered him into a hug.

Logan and Hank glanced at each other and without a word exchanged, began to leave the room. 

"Logan," Charles called out, seeing her leaving.

"What, kid?"

"Thanks..."

"Ain't needed, kid. _This_ time we're even."

She turned quickly and left.

"Any luck?"

Logan had followed Hank down to his lab after leaving Charles and his parents together. Although only one day had passed since she last spoke to Hank about Charles, she was becoming mildly impatient. She was longing to get back to being male again, afraid that too long spent in this form would dull the advantages that the Y chromosome gave the Wolverine - amongst them increased aggression and risk-taking behaviour. Too bad the height part had bypassed him. 

"I don't know why I didn't notice it before." Hank was saying. "When Charles manifests his abilities on a plant, what is the result?" 

"I dunno, a different flamin' plant, what else?"

"Exactly," Hank beamed at her, "A plant. Not an animal, or a hybrid of some kind, but a plant still. Somehow, although he can change DNA, he still keeps the organism's base form."

"An' this helps how?"

Hank's face fell. "Well, that is the current obstacle. I'm not sure what significance this has for us, but I'm sure it will be pertinent in some way to your condition."

Logan growled, frustrated. She had agreed to escort the Mavissens back to their home in Aurora on her way up north; she needed a few days away for activity and thought. Time also, for Charles to work on his mutation, with Hank's help, and without her hovering over their shoulders with impatience every day.

Long overdue time away.

Next morning, Logan slept in. She didn't really need long periods of actual sleep - another benefit of having an accelerated healing factor - but people were starting to grate on her nerves, and she wanted to spend as little time with others as she could. Eventually she got up and got herself ready for the day, and the week ahead. 

Intending to slope off down to the kitchens, she was stopped by Charles outside his room. 

"You're taking my 'rents back home? Well, don't lose them this time."

"Ain't ya supposed ta be in class?" Logan growled.

Charles ignored her attitude. "It's Saturday. No classes, duh. But I'm going to spend the day with Hank in the lab." He seemed happy at the prospect. 

Logan grunted in reply, and stomped off down the stairs. She'd lost track of the days. If it was the weekend, that meant more people hanging around the place.

The kitchen was crowded. Logan put her head round the door and seeing how busy it was, wondered off into the dining room. It was actually quieter there, so she headed for the coffee machine. She'd fill up with food on the road. 

"So you've joined the land of the living again, Logan!" Nightcrawler waved a hand at Logan as she came towards the table. There were two students at the other table grabbing the chance to have a quiet conversation with each other, so they paid no attention to the two X-Men. 

"Flamin' hell, can't a... a person sleep in once in a while?" She sat down, suddenly depressed. She had been about to say 'guy'. Bugger it. She stared morosely into her coffee. 

"Wo drückt es dich denn?" Kurt asked gently. 

"What's up? You have ta ask me what's up? Can't ya guess?" she growled, not looking at Kurt, "And none o' ya preachin' or homilies either."

"Ich denke nicht im Traum daran. I vouldn't dream of it, my friend. How about a riddle instead? Warum serviert man amerikanisches Bier kalt?"

Logan snorted, glad she hadn't been actually drinking her coffee. "I've heard it."

"Vell?"

"Ya know m'feelin's on th'matter. We've been drinkin' buddies long enough."

"Ja, that's true," Kurt sighed, preparing to leave, "Don't you forget it, Logan."

She watched as the demon-like mutant left the room. Just what had he been implying? 

A few minutes later, Logan got a call from Xavier. The Mavissens are waiting for you, Logan.

Gi'me a couple o' minutes. I'll meet them by the jeep.

She raised herself ponderously from her chair, leaving her coffee cup on the table, and made her way back upstairs for her bag. Half-way up, she bumped into Jubilee bounding down in a hurry.

"Watch it, half-pint," she growled, glaring at the slight girl. 

"You sure are grumpy today, Logan. Have you got PMT or something?" she said as she took off hurriedly.

Logan's eyes widened in horror at the flippant remark. It was just as well it was Jubes making it; anyone else, and they would've had a face-full of adamantium by now. Of course in their eyes, that would have confirmed their impression anyway. She groaned. That was something she hadn't even considered about being female. Oh sure, she knew all about it from the male perspective - she could even literally sense it when it was that time of the month for women, owing to her ultra-keen sense of smell. 

Well if that was the case, then she certainly didn't want to be around here any longer.

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	18. What About The Boyfriend?

_A/N: I'm giving you due warning that there is an unpleasant, pre-rape situation in this chapter. If that disturbs you, please don't read any further. (It's a serious thing and I'm not belittling the horrible experience.) Otherwise, this is just the sort of situation that Logan could find herself in - and what is the result? I think you can guess, heehee..._

Stormie04, smegl, giveGodtheglory: PMS? You'll have to wait and see if it is or not, evil writer that I am... :)

Xx-Disturbed-xX: Thanks for your long comments. LOL, it can get pretty amusing with different accents, can't it? I'll certainly read your fic, and I don't mind a bit of romance now and then. This one won't have any; it doesn't quite suit the piece, though I can think of an amusing thing for Logan to do in a future chapter. I'm still debating internally whether I'll put it in or not. :\

paige guthrie: I'm glad you're enjoying the characterisation - I hope it holds out!

Kerewin: Welcome back! Thank-you, thank-you for saying it was well-written - now if I can only replicate that for all _my writing... *g* I think you should like this chapter... and the next!_

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**Chapter 18:** What About The Boyfriend?

The light green jeep tore along the I-90, exceeding the posted speed limit by a decent percentage, but amazingly remaining unstopped by any of the traffic authorities.

Logan drove. Lars and Helen conversed quietly in the back. Logan preferred it that way; she didn't want to talk to anyone, and the Mavissens seemed to be able to sense her mood and allow for it. They had stopped for lunch, or in Logan's case, a very late breakfast. She knew this would be a long drive, with an overnight stop, and she wanted to get them back as quickly as possible. They'd been five hours on the road already: only 970 odd miles to go. 

Eventually, when it had been fully dark for almost two hours and street lights began appearing with increased frequency, they reached the outskirts of Toledo. Logan pulled up to a nondescript low, long motel for the night. They ate at a steak house up the road, where the Mavissens were almost too tired to talk much, or perhaps they were in that zombie-like state that comes with boredom on a massive scale.

After seeing them back to the motel, Logan was still antsy; whether it was the long drive, or something else she couldn't tell, but decided to find a bar. 

She found one nearby that was Saturday night busy. That suited her; more chance of being lost in the crowd. Pushing her way to the bar, she ordered a McNally's from the bartender, then pushed her way to the back of the cavernous room until she found an unoccupied seat at a small table. She sat, back to the wall, and watched people sitting drinking or milling about, chatting with mates and generally enjoying themselves. This is what she habitually did when she went into a strange bar, though if the bar was mostly empty she sat up at the bar itself.

After a while, she felt some of the tenseness leave her shoulders as she slowly drank her beer. She'd been astonished to see the bartender automatically pour her beer into a glass for her; only sissies and women drank from glasses. Oh, right. 

Suddenly, she wished that Nightcrawler were there, with his cheerful, sometimes nonsensical chatter. She shook her head; now what brought that thought on?

"Is this seat taken?"

Logan lifted her head. Her dark eyes solemnly surveyed the man standing the other side of the table. He was of medium height and wore a dark fleece jacket and an uncertain smile. He smelt of the sea, a mixture of salt, fish and fibreglass resin. He appeared harmless enough.

"Nah, go ahead," grunted Logan, her attention already back to her drink.

The guy put his beer down and carefully sat, running his fingers through his short light brown hair. He cleared his throat.

"Uh... My name's Craig. Are you from around here?"

Sighing, Logan answered; she obviously wasn't going to be left alone, and who knows, maybe this guy could substitute for the company of Nightcrawler, "Logan. Jus' passin' through."

There was a short silence.

"So, uh, Logan, what do you do for a crust?"

I'm a mutant super-hero now, but I used to be a CIA operative amongst other things... "I'm a teacher," she replied, "of gifted children. What about you - somethin' ta do with th'sea?"

Craig looked surprised. "I'm a sailor. How'd you know that?"

"Sherlock Holmes ain't got nothin' on me."

"Wow, colour me impressed! What about that guy over there?" His blue eyes darted towards a man sitting at another close by table. Logan glanced at him briefly and then back at Craig.

"Works in a hospital or suchlike," she said, scenting the antiseptic tang that came off his skin.

"Pity we'll never know," grinned Craig, his eyes sparkling in his tanned face. He seemed more at ease now.

"Thing is, ya could make up some story about a stranger, but find it falls way short of th'reality..." Logan took another sip from her almost empty glass. 

"Shall I make one up for you?"

"Do that," said Logan, leaning back against the wall, amused. She was beginning to enjoy this little game.

Craig studied her for a moment, then began. "You're a loner, prefer your own company. You'd be fiercely loyal to your family though. You - like the outdoors, you hike a lot. Am I close so far?" He paused as Logan chuckled.

"You a fortune-teller or mind-reader?"

Smiling, he continued. "You don't own your own home, but you rent a small house, so you have room for your dog to live as well. Ummm, you like gardening and cooking - but that's it for domestic stuff - and you paint as a hobby. You went to college before becoming a teacher. You're about 33 and you don't have a boyfriend. Am I right?"

Logan was too busy laughing to answer immediately. With a sigh she stopped and grinned at him, as she pulled a cigar out of her jacket, lit it, and took a couple of drags from it.

"An' the reality? Don't rent, ain't got no dog, hate gard'nin', cook only out o' necessity, can't paint, never been ta college, and I'm over a hunnerd years old."

"What about the boyfriend?"

"Is that a hint?"

"It could be."

Logan laughed again. "Mister, I ain't in th' market. Thanks anyway."

Craig smiled, reddening slightly. "Sorry, that was rather clumsy of me."

"Nah, forgeddit."

"OK. So, uh, where did you come from today?" Craig slouched back in his chair, not too fazed that his attempt to hit on Logan had failed. His brow furrowed as if he'd just thought of something, which indeed he had. "Hang on - did you say over a hundred?"

Chuckling, Logan only blew a plume of smoke from her cigar in reply.

"Ha. Got me! Good one," the sailor exclaimed.

The talk skirted around several subjects after that. Craig was intelligent and funny, even if, as far as Logan could tell, they had no interests in common. She was in a pretty relaxed mood by the time Craig stood up and said he had to go.

"...meet you, well, good luck with teaching those kids. At least you'll never get bored."

"Not hardly," said Logan, getting up herself. She wanted another drink, though this time she thought she'd actually sit at the bar to drink it.

She was enjoying her third McNally's, when another guy, this one dark and smooth like one of the old malts on sale and with an odd musty smell, started chatting her up. Unfortunately, this guy wasn't nearly as good-natured as Craig, and didn't recognise a 'no' when he heard one. Logan decided to ignore the jerk. She took another pull from her glass, and as she set it back down on the wooden bar top, watched her hand become disembodied and sort of float in the air. 

She shook her head, trying to clear it - voices surrounding her ballooned then faded, sounding as if they were coming from under water. She felt tired and dizzy. What was happening?

She felt a hand on her arm, someone helping her off the stool. She turned and blearily saw the guy she'd said no to earlier leading her towards the front entrance. Her head started to clear, and her limbs became her own again; thanks to her healing factor her recovery from poisoning of any kind was phenomenal. She clicked just what it was that had happened to her.

She had been drugged. This was a man who preyed on woman; spiked their drinks, drugged them, took them off someplace and raped them.

Well, she was no longer drugged, but this bastard needed a lesson. And she was in the mood now to teach him.

Staggering, as if she was still under the influence of the drug, Logan allowed herself to be lead away. The guy roughly shoved her into the back of a car and drove off, not even bothering to check whether his passenger was all right. After about ten minutes, he pulled up at a house in a mediocre suburban street, dragged Logan out of the car and into the dark house. There, he steered her into a bedroom and started setting up both a camera and a video camera. Not a word had he spoken to Logan since leaving the bar.

This guy is even sicker than I thought he was, thought Logan, sitting on the bed and watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes. Mr Smooth finally turned his attention to the woman on the bed, approaching with what he thought was a suave smile, and anticipation gleaming in his eyes. 

"I want you to take your clothes off," he suggested.

Logan stood up as if she were about to comply but instead moved closer to him. He looked surprised, but unworried as she stumbled and grabbed at his arm with one hand. 

__

Snikt.

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	19. Just Peachy

_A/N: Back on track this chapter - finally, we get to see the Mavissens' reactions to the revelation of Logan's gender change :)_

Go10: Here's more... I'm really flattered that you'd want to do a sequel to 'Alter' - my characters must strike a chord with someone! I'm already working on a sequel though (very early stages, developing plot - don't expect any posts for a while!). Thanks though.

GiveGodtheglory: You can come out now, :)

Xx-Disturbed-xX: Probably not as quick as you wished, but at last it's here. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 19:** Just Peachy

__

Bam bam bam.

Lars was woken abruptly by the banging on the motel-unit door. He stumbled out of bed and went to the door, glancing at his wife to make sure the noise hadn't woken her as well. She stirred lazily.

"What is it?" he called softly.

"It's me. Logan," came the mutant's voice from the other side. "Get dressed. We have ta leave. Now." Her tone brooked no argument. Lars wondered what the trouble was now.

"OK, give us a minute."

He shook Helen awake and the two of them dressed quickly and left. They didn't have any extra belongings to worry about and slow them down.

Logan met them by the jeep. 

"Get in, ya can sleep in the back," she said in a low tone as she handed over a couple of blankets.

"What's happened? Why're we leaving in such a hurry?" asked Lars. Logan looked as if she hadn't been to bed at all.

"Tell ya on th'road."

Logan glanced back at Lars through the rear-vision mirror as they headed westwards. She could see Helen watching her as well, her head peering out from the blanket she was wrapped up in. Sighing, and wondering about the wisdom of doing so, Logan continued her explanation. 

"...so I - _emasculated_ him. He ain't goin' ta be botherin' women no more. There was a lot of screamin' though, so I thought it best ta high-tail it outta here b'fore the place is swarmin' with cops. Not b'cause of me, ya understand, bit I ain't about ta drag you through any more o' this type of crap."

She glanced again in the mirror, not sure what their reactions would be. Lars looked worried; an expression she was becoming familiar with, but Helen - Helen was virtually incandescent with rage. Logan winced, fearing she'd made a classic balls-up; Xavier would not be happy if the Mavissens took Charles out of the Institute. But to her surprise, Helen's anger was not directed at her, but the drug-rape perpetrator.

"Good job! Serves him right. Pity all of those creeps can't get the same treatment, instead of the measly slap on the hand they get now," Helen spat out. She had sat up and was quivering with the force of her words.

"Calm down..." Lars hugged his wife. 

Logan raised an eyebrow. What brought that on?

"Well, I ain't likin' it either. Too often I've seen the ways men treat women - made me ashamed to be a man sometimes. But at least I'm able to even the odds a bit," she said gruffly.

There was silence. Logan lifted her eyes to the mirror to find two pairs of wide eyes staring thunderstruck back at her.

"What?" she said, puzzled.

"You used to be a man?" Helen's voice was high and tremulous.

Bugger it. _This_ was the balls-up. "I was a man all my life till last week, an' I'm hopin' like flamin' hell I'll be a man again next week," she growled.

"B-but..." Lars was having difficulty formulating his sentence. Logan knew she'd have to come clean with the whole story, and hope that as parents, the Mavissens would not end up too shocked at what their son could do.

"I ain't a transvestite, an' I certainly ain't no transsexual, at least, not by intention. It was... it was your kid did this ta me. I got too close when I found him, an' he panicked."

She saw Lars wince as he took in the implications of becoming a woman unexpectedly.

Helen whispered, "Poor Charles."

There was more silence as they pondered the new information. Logan stared out of the windshield at the road illuminated by the jeep's headlights. 

Eventually, Lars spoke up. "I'm sorry Logan, for what Charles has done to you..."

Logan interrupted. "Hey, you don' have ta apologise for your kid. We've sorted it out between us already; he's still in one piece." She tried joking.

Waving a hand impatiently, Lars continued. "No, listen. We've seen and learnt a lot in the last couple of weeks. It's been a steep learning curve for us, but we've come to terms with the fact our son is a mutant. And meeting with you, and Professor Xavier, and Kurt Wagner, and- and Dr McCoy, has opened my eyes to how strange and wonderful and terrifying it must be for all of you who have to live as mutants in our society." He paused for a second, picking out his words with care.

"And now, to see you, a mutant who probably has enough troubles in just being that, to see how you've coped and dealt with such an astounding extra burden... you know, you're an _asset_ to society, not a menace, and I don't care what anyone else says!" 

Logan was stunned. She didn't know how to respond; to have an ordinary human tell her she was an asset, not because of her mutant powers, but because she was inherently who she was, quite frankly staggered her. She felt a prickling behind her eyes. What was that, tears? The Wolverine didn't cry...

She opened her mouth to say something, but was stopped by Helen unexpectedly chuckling.

"Oh, oh my God! No wonder you act like you do. And I thought you were a lesbian!" The woman began cracking up with laughter; Logan thought she detected a slight note of hysteria in it though. Lars must have thought the same, because he gave his wife a little nudge in the ribs.

"Well, I'm glad that's out in the open," Logan said huskily. She looked up to see Lars grinning at her, as if he knew that her words and tone of voice was a cover-up for how she was really feeling. She growled, a small inaudible rumble in her throat. "Get to sleep, the both of ya. It's a long drive ahead."

"Uh, yeah, good idea," replied Lars, "Good night." The only reply from Helen was a few hiccups, as her laughter stopped and she settled down to sleep. 

The sky began to imperceptibly lighten as the sun made its way up towards the eastern horizon. Lars and Helen were still asleep in the cramped area in the back of the jeep. Logan had been driving for about five hours - another half hour at most would see them reach Madison in Wisconsin - and although she wasn't really tired, she had endured longer periods without sleep than this, she needed a break. 

Her hands were starting to feel slightly numb from the constant vibrations from the road surface travelling up through the steering wheel.

She pulled up outside an early-opening coffee shop, and woke the Mavissens, giving them time to become fully awake while she stretched her legs and had a morning cigarette. Bleary eyed, and with hair mussed from sleep, the couple followed her in for breakfast.

After, all feeling much refreshed, Lars insisted that he drive for a while, and Logan could sleep in the back. Logan thought of protesting, but after seeing the look in Lars' eye, shut up and threw the keys at him. No sense in being stupid - take the chance to rest while you can. Lars grinned. "Long drive ahead," he said to Logan in an echo, as Helen climbed up into the passenger seat next to him. 

"Hrumph." Logan wrapped a blanket around herself and lay across the seat. "Wake me when we get ta St. Paul will ya? I don' want ta miss out on lunch..."

Logan woke long before St Paul. Instantly awake, she focussed on the news report coming from the car radio; it must have been this that had gained her subconscious attention. 

"...on the scene spoke to Sgt Fisher who had this to say, 'It seems like one of his victims fought back. We still haven't found her, or the weapon, but inquiries are continuing." Thurston is being held at the prison hospital, where he will be formally charged later today. In other news, scientists have detected a cor..."

Helen had reached out and turned the radio off. " 'Inquiries are continuing' is police-speak for 'we haven't got a clue'," she said to Lars, brushing hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

Logan chuckled, the sound making Helen twist in her seat to look at her.

"Did you have a good nap?" she asked, not exactly uneasy with the mutant, but a little skittish around the edges still.

"Just peachy, Darlin'. Are we almost there yet?"

"Geez, you sound like a kid. How old did you say you were?"

"I didn't." Logan tossed the blanket aside and searched around for her cigarettes. "So," she said, between puffs, "figured out yet what yer goin' to tell the folks back home?"

"Yes actually. I'm going to say that you kidnapped us and held us for ransom but no one was interested so you decided to return us for a refund instead, like an empty bottle."

Logan calmly observed her through a stream of smoke. "Is that so Darlin'? An' they call _me_ strange..."

Helen laughed. "Lars and I talked about it while you were asleep. We've all been on a camping trip - showing our visitor the sights and stuff."

"Good as any," said Logan after a while. 

She leaned back into seat, staring out the window and smoking as the miles flew by.

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	20. Ya Mean?

_A/N: Here it is, the penultimate chapter of 'Wolverine's Broad Trouble'! It was originally going to be the last chapter, but I ended up writing more, so there is another one to go. (Bonus!) Heh._

silvergryffin: You know, I'm constantly amazed when people find things I wrote funny - it bolsters my self-esteem untold! Thank-you.

Grey8: Thanks for your very heartening review. Enjoy some more!

Xx-Disturbed-xX: Oh dear, I hope you haven't gone into caffeine overdose with the wait... mea culpa! :)

Ice Lynx: I haven't stopped, honest - I just wrote extra... that ought to keep you happy :) I think you'll like these chapters - I hope you do, anyway. So no Barbies! *shudder*

giveGodtheglory: It really **is** safe to come out now :) Thanks for the compliments.

Cheers,

Apteryx

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**Chapter 20:** Ya Mean...?

A shaft of light from the setting sun hit the dark clouds and turned them the colour of fresh bruises. Rain was hitting the ground with hard splashes recoiling from the road, reminding Logan of bullets tearing up concrete, and suiting her mood admirably. She turned in at the Institute gates, returning after spending a couple of weeks taking the small roads in Ontario, north past Balmertown, past the small lakes that spread the area like shattered glass. At least one thing that she dreaded hadn't eventuated... However she hadn't found the peace she was hoping for in the wilds; for some reason, the silence seemed louder than the sound of Xavier's students rushing down for dinner at the Mansion. Her thoughts kept returning so often to that place and its occupants, that in disgust, she had packed up the jeep and returned herself. 

Logan knew what it was of course; she was becoming increasingly antsy in this body. While others may be impressed with degree of control she had, she found it was harder to get angry. Hadn't she always wanted to control the animal within? The berserker rage that overtook her mind and body? Control, yes. But totally sublimate? No. No freakin' way. 

If Charles hadn't made much progress, then maybe seeing her face moping around the place would motivate him. If her face didn't work, maybe the claws would do the trick...

She entered the garage and went in through the doors into the house, knowing that no one would have heard her arrival due to the weather, and went straight for her room, to shower and get into a change of clothes, without bumping in to a soul. Then she headed for the lab.

Hank was staring moodily at his computer screen, his legs wrapped around the base of his chair in what seemed an impossible angle to Logan. He was surrounded by plants, most of them contained in terrariums made out of old plastic drink bottles, as well as scores of labelled petri dishes, and for variation, a few regular pot plants. The place looked as if it doubled as a plant nursery. Logan briefly wondered what the state of Ororo's garden was, if the lab was this chaotic. Standing behind Hank, she leaned towards his oblivious form and said quietly into his ear, "Y'know, there must be easier ways o' makin' a bit of pin money..."

The startled blue mutant jumped completely out of his chair with a hiss, instincts taking over, and his massive clawed arm only just missing Logan's head as she ducked under his swipe. Hank landed, feet on the floor, facing Logan. 

"Stars and Garters, don't _do_ that!" he exclaimed, apologetic. "I could have taken your head off."

"No ya couldn't." Logan grinned. "Good ta see ya too, Blue."

Hank ran his hand over his head, and sighed deeply. Logan's grin faded; this did not bode well for an answer to her condition. 

"Want ta tell me about it?" she asked, preparing herself for the worse.

"Indubitably. But not right at this moment. Hmm, a more opportune occasion would be later this evening, postprandial. We would be able to include young Charles into our confabulations as well."

"Yeah, whatever," said Logan, "After dinner then. You coming?"

"Eh? Oh. No, I have to finish extrapolating these results. I'll see you later..." Hank waved his arm in farewell as he sat back in his chair and gave his attention once more to the screen. Logan snorted quietly as she stumped out the doors. 

The rain had stopped and the sky was dark. Logan leant against the wet stone of the house, not caring about the damp that seeped in through her shirt. She had a cigar in her hand, as yet unlit, and was twirling it absent-mindedly through her fingers as she stared across the gardens. The rain had left a new world behind it, and everything smelt different; long dormant scents were brought back to life for a short time before they were dissipated totally, and the vegetation around gave off waves of almost overpowering green. Logan liked the outdoors after rain. She gave another sniff.

"Elf," she acknowledged.

A shadowy form separated itself from its surroundings as it moved into the light from the nearby window. "Logan."

Logan was silent for a pause, before speaking, still not looking at the other person.

"You were right. Runnin' away wasn't the answer. At least, not this time." She finally lit her cigar, more as a type of physical therapy than a need for a smoke. She glanced a quick sidelong glance at Nightcrawler, noting his golden eyes fixed on her. "I am what I am. I may have ta accept this. I don't think Big Blue has any easy answers fer me either, the way he almost pushed me out o' the lab." Sighing, she took a huge drag on the cigar. 

"That - for you, that is tough..."

"Yeah, well I'm tough, I can handle it. There are advantages too, y'know."

"Nämlich?"

"I can be moody an' unpredictable, an' it's excused because I'm a woman. I'm underestimated - makes my job easier. I don't get any more 'short' jokes. Hell, I'll even be able ta go into bars I've been banned from, until I'm banned again."

"So. You are ready to join the team once more, ja?"

"Yep, meaner than ever." 

"I'm glad," Kurt said simply, and she knew exactly what he meant.

Logan threw her half-smoked cigar out into the night, watching the arc of the glowing end, and hearing it sizzle out as it landed in wet grass. Perhaps she'd finally find a kind of peace within herself. All those years searching for it and here it was, within a female body. Weighing up peace against anger, she found it wasn't such a big deal any more.

"Y'eaten?" she asked Kurt, raising an eyebrow as she turned towards him. She stepped to his side, and companionably, they walked back inside together.

"...so then I found myself surrounded - you know the story - an' had t'fight my way out. They weren't expectin' that."

Kurt laughed at Logan's anecdote as he ate. No one had shown surprise at Logan's appearance this time; it was as if they were used to it already. Logan in turn, had ignored everyone else. Which was so much her usual character it was taken for granted.

Scott came over to the table and stood by Logan, obviously wanting her attention for something. She ignored him. Eventually, he cleared his throat to speak.

"That's a nasty cough you've got there - better get it checked out before ya infect the rest of us, eh?" Logan said, still not looking up from her meal. 

"Look, I've been trying to speak to you for a while..." said Scott, irritated.

"Yer speakin' t'me now. Do you actually have anything ta say though?"

"You're to report for Danger Room training at 0530 hours tomorrow. I expect you to be there." Scott turned abruptly and left, his back absolutely straight in reproach as he walked away.

Logan chuckled. "Y'know," she said conversationally to Kurt, "Old One Eye puts up with a lot o' crap from us. I think I'll give him a gift, just ta let him know we do care about him..."

The teleporter looked at Logan in amazement. "Mein Freund, are you perhaps not feeling well?"

"Perfectly well. Not to worry, I ain't about ta go all soppy on ya. You'll see..." She pushed her chair back and stood, scanning the tables for Hank or Charles, and seeing neither of them. "I'm off ta the lab. Hank wants a word with me."

Kurt turned a slightly worried eye on Logan. 

"An' no words from you; I'm fine," Logan muttered as she noticed Kurt's expression, before leaving the dining room herself.

Hank was in the same position as Logan had left him earlier. He quite possibly hadn't moved in that whole time. However, Charles was also in the lab, standing next to Hank and peering over his shoulder at the computer screen as well. Logan watched Charles say something to Hank, and Hank point to something on the screen in response. She moved from the window to the door of the lab and entered, the swish of the door making Charles look up at her. He smiled then, innocent and welcoming, happy that a friend was back again to see him.

"Logan!" he exclaimed, coming over to her and taking her hand to lead her towards the computer, "Come and see what we've discovered." He sounded excited.

Logan followed him, resigned. He was turning into as much of a science geek as Hank, and that was saying something. Probably excited about some new bit of plant DNA... 

Charles gestured to the computer. Logan could see what looked like coloured blobs floating across the screen, merging and splitting in jerky movements. It meant nothing to her, and she wasn't looking forward to the explanations that were sure to ensue. She wanted a straightforward answer. 

"What the hell is it - a bubble blowin' game?"

"It's cells..." started Charles.

"We need a sample from you Logan," interrupted Hank, twisting in his chair and glancing at her over the top of his glasses. "Tissue culture for analysis to verify our findings." He reached over and passed Logan a glass slide. "Could you kindly lightly scrape the inside of your cheek with this?"

Slightly bewildered, Logan did so.

"Ah..." Without getting out of his chair, Hank had placed the slide under one of his bits of scientific equipment and flicked a couple of switches. The picture on the screen changed. It still looked like cells - Logan figured they were hers - but they were unmoving. Tapping away at the keyboard, Hank changed the image, magnifying it exponentially. Finally the image stilled. Hank and Charles both leaned forward to study the details, leaving Logan to wonder what the heck this was all about.

The boy gave a little yelp of excitement. "There it is!" He poked a finger at a wriggly splodge on the screen. 

"I do believe you are most perspicacious, young Charles. That indeed, is 'it'." Hank isolated the particular point of the image, and spun around to face Logan, beaming broadly. "This my friend, is a splendid result for you. I shall try to explain it to you as perspicuously as possible."

Logan felt a surge of hope - did their excitement mean that Charles had control of his power? She hooked a nearby stool with her foot and pulled it over. Not much floored her, but sitting down might be a good idea. Given how long-winded Hank's explanations could be, sitting was _still_ a good idea. 

Charles pulled a face; a mix of rolling eyes in anticipation of the length of Hank's speech, and a grimace of impatience. Logan could tell he just wanted to get _on_ with it. 

"...a cultivar of a homosporous fern, Ceratopteris richardii, and controlling the production and growth of the diploid sporophytes, we narrowed down the range of effects of the manipulation of the DNA of the plant structure that Charles induced. We concentrated on the collenchyma, where the tissue is developed as part of the..."

"Uh, Blue?" Logan spoke up. Her head was already spinning. "Just gimme the meat in the sandwich, huh?"

"Oh. Certainly. My apologies. Now then, you've heard of mitochondria? The 'command centre' if you like, of the cell. It's widely known that some elements of the mother's DNA can be passed down into an organism within the mitochondria. Forensic scientists, for example, use it to find the distant antecedents of a person for family identification purposes. Well. It so happens that when Charles uses his mutational powers on living organisms, a residual copy of the original DNA is stored in the mitochondria of the transformed being. With lots of practise, Charles is now able to restore that original DNA."

"Ya mean...?" said Logan, grasping at the meaning.

"I can change you back!" Charles was grinning so hard that he was in danger of splitting his lips.

"Uh. That's great kid, ya haven't been totally wastin' your time then." 

The boy eagerly held out his hand towards Logan.

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	21. Saying A Fond Farewell

_A/N: OK, this is it: the final chapter. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I really appreciate and thank-you all for your most encouraging reviews. So sometimes my odd ideas are worth it after all, (qv chapter one) :D I'm still writing, though my next effort will eventually be posted in the Spider-Man section (as are most of my other fics). Thanks again and take care._

Kerewin: Don't die, please! Not a staunch reviewer like you... :) I like your second suggestion, but you know, once Wolvie's a male again, dang if the ol' testosterone don't kick in again, heh. Oh well...

Stormie04: Oh no! What is it with you lot dying on me? LOL. Look alive, here's the last chapter!

summers2004: Thanks. I did think long and hard about the romance thing (and fyi, it was almost Logan and Kurt...). Perhaps another time?

TheWolf: The last instalment for your reading pleasure :)

silvergryffin: Sorry, I couldn't resist it - it was such a good place to break, heehee.

giveGodtheglory: Did I get it right? I don't know that I'll write any more Wolverine (at least not any time soon). I'm about to shred any rep I may have to pieces, but I'm afraid I'm a spider-geek at heart, though it was fun to dip a toe in a different pool, LOL.

Ice Lynx: I've finished, I've finished! Call off your attack of the saccharine stuffed toys. :)

Cheers, and Ka Kite Ano,

Apteryx

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**Chapter 21:** Saying A Fond Farewell

"Wait." Logan leant her head back to avoid being touched; she'd had an idea. "Can ya - do your magic touch thing before bedtime? I've got stuff ta finish before getting back ta m'normal self."

"Sure. Whenever," replied Charles, not at all concerned. Hank raised his brow in astonishment at Logan though. 

"I never thought I would witness the day when you were at all dilatory about this - I am indeed amazed at your reticence."

Logan growled faintly in her throat. "Don't be," she said shortly, "I just want to set someone straight about somethin'... Anyone else know your control's this far advanced?" She turned to Charles.

"Nup. The Prof might, but he doesn't strike me as a babbler."

"Hell no." Logan stood up. "See ya later. An' thanks."

And she left, leaving Hank still worried about her reaction.

Some time later, Logan entered the darkened rec room, one of the last places in her search for Scott Summers. He was there in the burgundy shadows, in a chair in the corner, reading a book, with a single standard lamp shining over his shoulder to provide illumination.

"So, where's Jeannie tonight?"

Scott shrugged his shoulders at Logan's question, then put his book down with a sigh, careful not to lose his place as he did so. 

"What do you want, Logan?"

She held up her hands in supplication. "Want? Want? I don't want anythin'. Well, maybe a beer'd go down well, but I'm not complainin' mind." Logan dumped herself into the chair opposite, draping a leg over the arm, and leaning back, stretching with her arms over her head. She couldn't see Scott's eyes behind his glasses, and the light put his face in shadow, but she had no doubt he was watching her intently.

"A tiger doesn't change its stripes," said Scott testily.

"O'course it don't. _I_ ain't a tiger." She paused. "Instead, I'm a woman. An' it looks ta stay this way for a while. If ya want ta find out how much I've changed, go ask Kurt."

Both of Scott's eyebrows rose above his glasses.

"An' keep your mind out of the gutter. I dunno, I've... mellowed somewhat..."

"The Wolverine, mellowed? This I got to see. What have you been into - something your healing factor can't kick out quickly enough?"

A low growl came from her throat. Dammit. It's not going to work if you let him get your back up...

"Dammit, Scott. I'm tellin' ya... I'm _tryin'_ ta tell ya I've changed. I even got somethin' for you. I was goin' ta give you one of m'bikes, but if yer ain't interested..."

Scott sat up straight. "What, no kidding? You're serious?"

"Damn straight. Y'know the Harley Knucklehead? It's yours."

"You mean it - you are serious." Scott was very still; if he were a telepath, he'd be at this moment trying his damnedest to scan how truthful Logan was. But as he wasn't, whatever he got from Logan's tone of voice and her stance, was enough to reassure him.

"It's in the garage."

"Uh, I'm sorry Logan, I misjudged you."

"'S alright." She pulled herself out of her chair, yawning. "I'm off ta bed. See ya." 

Logan brought a hand up to her mouth as if smothering another yawn, but she was hiding a smirk as she watched Scott oh so casually pick his up his book again, as if he wasn't about to jump up as soon as she left the room and race off to the garage to slobber over his gift.

She made her way quickly to Charles' room and waltzed in without knocking. Charles was sitting at his desk, reading and trying to stay awake while he waited for Logan to arrive.

"What kept you? Saying a fond farewell to all your boyfriends?" He spoke without thinking through his tiredness. Logan realised this and lucky for him, decided to ignore the comment.

"Where's Hank? Didn't he want to witness this too?"

"Nah. He only told me to keep out of your way while you transformed again - something about hormones and male markers and I couldn't understand the rest..."

Chuckling, Logan came to stand in front of him.

"D-do you have to prepare yourself first or something?"

"Not much ya c'n do ta prepare yerself for pain, kid. Oh, flamin' hell, let's just get it done, eh?"

Charles stood up and stretched his hand out towards Logan's cheek.

"Wait!" 

She had forgotten her belt. She loosened it - getting cut in half wasn't first on the list of her priorities once she was back to her normal self.

She met Charles' gaze; his eyes held some apprehension as he touched her cheek with his finger. 

Logan knelt on the carpet and closed her eyes as she felt the hot and cold flushes start travelling over her body once more. She was aware of Charles prudently moving away, before the pain overwhelmed her.

It had worked; his sex was his own. Logan heaved a sigh of relief and staggered to his feet. He was nowhere near as disoriented as he had been when he had become a woman - he suspected it was because he had lived his life, apart from the last few weeks, as a male; it was imprinted on his psyche. He straightened up to see Charles' pale face watching him from the safety of the other side of his bed.

"Sorry kid," he said gruffly, "It's rather graphic, ain't it?" He patted his pockets, searching for a cigar. Charles took a breath and hopped over his bed to sit on it, still staring at Logan.

"I..." he started to say, rubbing his forehead with the back of a hand. "I thought you'd be taller..."

Logan growled; he'd have to put up with short jokes again. He knew that Charles hadn't really seen him as he actually was before his initial change, so he flagged his automatic threat response of claws extended. He found a cigar and tore the wrapping off, taking an appreciative sniff of the aroma as he placed it in the corner of his mouth. This was more to keep him busy and avoid looking at Charles, who was still in discomfort. Not that Logan was much better at this sort of thing. He started the pocket search again, this time for matches. Not finding any, he mumbled an excuse and turned to leave the room.

"Thanks would be nice..." Charles took a deep breath, and grinned when Logan turned back, scowling mightily. Fierce eyes stared into the boy's for a moment; then, with a chuckle, Logan relaxed. 

"OK kid, I owe ya one. Happy now?"

"Can you show me the Danger Room? No-one's shown me it yet, but I hear all about it. I'm dying to see it."

"You're on. Jus' let me get m'gear from my room." It was about time he had another session - he needed to work out any kinks, get adjusted back to his body again. He was inordinately pleased to be back to his own uniform as well. One thing about his recent experience; he now had a unique understanding of women that very few men had ever had.

Less than a minute later, they were going down the stairs heading for the elevator down to the lower levels. Almost at the hidden panel, Logan paused, hearing a sound. Pretty soon, even Charles could hear it too, as it increased in volume. It was a cry of anguish emanating from the direction of the garage. 

"What's that?" asked Charles, watching Logan, who evidenced no alarm, but instead just stood there with a grin broad enough to show sharp looking incisors. 

"Cyclops not likin' the gift I gave him," said Logan, amused, then continued sauntering down the corridor of the Mansion.

*************************************************************


End file.
